


Love is Another Country

by arxettutissimanobis



Series: New in Town [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Cold Weather, Corporations, Disordered Eating, Factory work, Knitting, M/M, Mention of Past Minor Character Death, Minor Body Dysmorphia, Non-Graphic Description of Injuries, Team Free Will Big Bang 2014, body issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 19:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2784389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arxettutissimanobis/pseuds/arxettutissimanobis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is happy with his routine working at his family’s clothing manufacturing corporation, so when he’s sent to New Ulm, Minnesota to oversee the automation of their outdated factory, he’s in for a bit of a shock. He never knew it could get so cold, or that the employees at the factory would be so resistant to change when he’s just trying to do his job. After immediately getting off on the wrong foot with union representative Dean Winchester, Castiel is certain it’s going to be the longest winter of his life - until a near death experience makes him realize he may have been wrong about the people in this quirky little town. When the factory is threatened with a shutdown, he’s surprised to find that some things are worth fighting for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Places I Have Never Been

**Author's Note:**

> Team Free Will Big Bang 2014 - A human AU based on the movie _New in Town_. I've borrowed lines of dialogue from the movie where appropriate - no copyright infringement or plagiarism intended. I will include details in the endnotes of potential triggers that include: near-death experience, non-graphic descriptions of injuries in a military context and body issues. Please contact me if you have any concerns. Thank you for reading!
> 
> The story title and chapter titles are from the song _Another Country_ by Tift Merritt, from the _New in Town_ soundtrack.
> 
> Thank you to [mycolour](http://mycolour.tumblr.com) for the lovely artwork!
> 
> To [Jess](http://wincechesters.tumblr.com), my best friend and most amazing cheerleader: YOU ARE AN ABSOLUTE ROCK STAR. There has never been a better or more patient beta in the history of betas, and words cannot express how grateful I am for all your help. Thank you for working with me on last-last-last-minute edits and helping me with characterization. You mean everything to me and I can’t tell you that enough.

The sound of waves crashing against the shore washes over Castiel as he jogs along the seaside path, his footsteps echoing off the boardwalk. The sun is rising and the breeze is fresh and cool, with only a hint of the mugginess that will roll in later on. He breathes deeply, matching the rhythm of his strides to the rushing waves and steadfastly keeps his mind quiet, avoiding any thoughts about the day ahead. Running is his meditation and he has long since mastered the skill of thinking only about the next step his feet will take.  
  
Reaching the end of the boardwalk, he sidesteps the spot where a protruding tree root pushes out of the ground like he does everyday. He gives a small nod and a wave to the young woman behind the counter in the coffee truck as always. And just like he has every morning for the past three years, he slows to a fast walk just as he reaches the five mile mark, which is a gradually weathering sign for surfboard and snorkel rentals. He continues away from the shore, up the hill slightly to his building, all the way up to the top floor to his apartment.  
  
After a quick shower, he finally allows himself to begin to think about work as he styles his hair carefully. The sun slants in through the large windows and the bright blue, cloudless Miami sky is breathtaking as always, but he barely spares it a glance.  
  
He gets dressed in the tailored suit that he carefully laid out the night before, smoothing the waistcoat down his chest. His eyes trace the lines of his body in the mirror, scrutinizing his stomach and legs. With a small frown he turns away, straightening up the room, hanging up the towel neatly in the bathroom and wiping down the countertop. He enters the kitchen, opening the fridge to grab a pre-made protein shake and takes a few sips. Taking a cursory glance at the clock, he realizes it’s two minutes past the time he usually leaves; he hopes traffic isn't too horrific this morning or he's going to be cutting it close.  
  
With a grimace at the humidity that is already beginning to rise, he descends the stairs from his apartment and walks to the covered parking lot. The sight of his brand new silver-blue Audi convertible greets him as he rounds the corner. He loves his car, even if he only drives it on congested freeways and never gets to push it over 40 mph. He wishes for a chance to take a long drive, to get out of the city and go somewhere he’s not surrounded by buildings and crowds of people. Maybe he will take a vacation - next year, possibly.  
  
A full frustrating hour later, Castiel steps out of the elevator at the headquarters of Elysium Clothing Inc. He has just enough time to swing by his office before his first meeting of the day, which promises to be a nightmare as it involves his irritating coworker Zachariah, as well as his two least favorite brothers. Working with two of his older brothers has never been pleasant - they're always fighting about something and attempting to undermine each other. The oldest, Michael, takes everything entirely too seriously, from the smallest drop in the market to any perceived slight against his abilities as President of the company. And the second oldest, Lucifer, delights in making trouble for Michael and everyone else even though he’s the Vice President. When their parents were running the company, they wouldn’t have allowed any such in-fighting, but as it is, hardly a day goes by without some explosive argument coming from the executive suite.  
  
The VP of Production, Zachariah, spends most of his time scheming to take over the company, but he is completely incompetent and no one really takes him seriously. As a result, Castiel is used to people with hidden agendas sneaking around. Recently, however, Castiel has been getting the sense that there’s more focus on him and his role in the company. He doesn’t have much interest in running the company right now; he’d often dreamed about being the President when he was younger and the company stood for something, but he hasn't wanted that for a long time.  
  
Luckily for Castiel, he does have two siblings who aren’t completely horrible. His older brother Gabriel can always be counted on for support or a prank against his other brothers (not that Castiel approves of pranks) and his younger sister Hannah is always level-headed and logical.  
  
His assistant, Ava, assails him as soon as he enters his office, nagging at him for being late as she hangs up his coat. He ends up dismissing her with an irritated huff and closes his eyes for a moment to collect himself. The relevant reports for the upcoming meeting are arranged neatly on his desk, next to the analyses for his 10:00 and his notes for his 1:00. He gathers them up and hurries to the conference room.  
  
The conference room is large, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Miami. The oval-shaped mahogany conference table is cluttered with papers, and has a wide variety of pastries arranged in the center. Castiel can smell the tantalizing scent of warm cinnamon and his stomach rumbles quietly. He ignores it, as well as the temptation of the baked goods.  
  
Sliding into a chair, he observes the others in the room as they converse. His brothers Michael and Lucifer are discussing the previous evening’s football game with a regional manager named Crowley, who always delights in disparaging the fine American tradition - and therefore irritating the brothers - by ridiculing the Miami Dolphins.  
  
Castiel shifts his gaze around the table again, only to find Zachariah looking at him pointedly and tapping his watch. Trying desperately not to roll his eyes, Castiel acknowledges him with a slight tilt of his head. He is going to have to start even earlier each morning to account for the steady increase in travel time, he realizes with a small sigh. It’s all part of living in a thriving metropolitan area and he wouldn’t have it any other way.  
  
Blocking out the rest of the room, he focuses his attention on the papers in front of him and glances over the printed report labeled “New Ulm Production Analysis”. Michael clears his throat, calling the room to order.  
  
”We've been discussing how the new government regulations will affect our bottom line,” Michael starts. “The military clothing facility in New Ulm is our main area of concern.”  
  
Lucifer cuts in. ”I argued that it looked like it would cost too much to update our process to fulfill the requirements and it would be better to close the plant.”  
  
Castiel agrees - he'd read those reports and the plant was certainly becoming more costly to operate.  
  
“But our contract with the Department of Defense is highly lucrative; I would hate to lose that opportunity,” Michael continues, with a small frown in Lucifer's direction.  
  
“There are a few options we can explore, including implementing more cost-effective materials and automating production,” Castiel suggests.  
  
“We’d certainly want to shrink the workforce 50% to cut costs,” Lucifer insists. Despite his propensity for playing devil’s advocate, Lucifer is very shrewd when it comes to maximizing profits.  
  
There's murmurs of agreement from everyone and Castiel nods along. It sounds like a solid proposal.  
  
”So which of you will oversee the conversion?” Michael asks at last. He looks around the table, twining his fingers together and setting his hands on top of his paperwork.  
  
No one moves.  
  
”Don't all volunteer at once,” he says sardonically.  
  
After a moment's consideration, Castiel raises his hand slightly. ”I'll do it.” Really, this project is so straightforward it's ridiculous.  
  
”There’s no reason Castiel couldn’t do the conversion on-site.”  
  
Castiel whips his head back around to glare at Zachariah, who has the most irritating grin on his face. ”That's not in the proposal,” Castiel almost growls.  
  
”On-site would expedite it,” Lucifer says helpfully, with a mischievous look in his eyes.  
  
The stab of anxiety in Castiel's chest blooms into full-blown panic as Michael agrees with the plan and says, “Let’s get this done right away.”  
  
Zachariah nods enthusiastically and calls to his assistant. “Arrange for Castiel to travel to Minnesota this weekend.”  
  
”This weekend? _Minnesota_?” He absolutely does _not_ want to go to Minnesota. Castiel tries to argue, to find a reason it should be someone else that goes, but finds his mind is utterly blank. And Zachariah looks entirely too pleased with this turn of events.

 

* * *

  
  
When he gets home after a long day of meetings and planning for his upcoming trip, Castiel finally takes the time to look out the windows of his apartment, since it might be some time before he sees the skyline in the heart of Miami again. The setting sun slants across the waves and he watches a few boats sail into the nearby marina. He has no idea what to expect in New Ulm; he’s barely even had a chance to research the town and adjust to the idea of living there for a few months. To a fault, Castiel prefers to be organized and prepared, and this situation has left him off kilter, to say the least.  
  
With a start, he remembers that it’s Friday, and as such he will have to postpone his weekly outing with his friends until further notice. He sighs and pulls his gaze from the window, searching for his phone. Finally he finds it buried under a pile of as yet unpacked clothing and dials his friend’s number.  
  
“Evening, Clarence.” Meg’s customary, sarcastic greeting pulls a reluctant smile from Castiel.  
  
“Hello, Meg,” he answers and gets straight to the point. “I apologize, but I won’t be able to make it for drinks tonight.”  
  
“Are they keeping you late again? Those fuckers,” Meg growls, eager to start ranting about how stressful his job is. “Well, tomorrow night, then.”  
  
“Ah, no, I’m actually going to be out of town. For the foreseeable future.”  
  
“What? Are you shitting me? Where are you going?” Meg demands and her indignation on his part is oddly satisfying.  
  
“I’ll be overseeing a factory conversion, on-site, in Minnesota.”  
  
“You have got to be fucking kidding! Minnesota? You’re gonna freeze your skinny little ass off.”  
  
“It’s not that bad, I’m sure.”  
  
“Uh huh, you keep telling yourself that, dearest. Pack all of your coats and sweaters. Trust me.”  
  
Castiel looks over the meager inventory he owns in that category, laid out over his bed. He sighs.  
  
“I’m going to be fine,” he states, dismayed when it comes out almost like a question.  
  
“Ya, you betcha,” Meg answers in a ridiculous accent, then laughs. “Call me when you get back to civilization, ‘kay, Castiel?”  
  
“I will. Have a good winter.” He hangs up and throws his phone back into the mess of clothes. “Damn it.”  
  
A subsequent phone call to his sister Hannah doesn’t make him feel much better, though she’s predictably more supportive than Meg, and he gives up on packing, falling asleep on top of piles of clothes.

 

* * *

  
  
Flying into the Minneapolis - St. Paul International Airport, Castiel looks anxiously down at the blank expanse of snow covering the ground as far as the eye can see. People begin pulling on heavy coats and scarves when the plane lands, and he does the same, although his thin trench coat is all he has at the moment. Once they disembark, he makes his way through the airport and tries to avoid glancing at the snow drifts visible through the windows. Lucifer had left him a smug-sounding voicemail warning him that the weather in Minnesota would be quite a shock to someone accustomed to living in Miami, and that - as well as Meg’s dire predictions - echoes in his mind. _But really, how bad can it be?_  
  
He adjusts the strap of his carry-on suitcase on his shoulder and looks around the baggage check area. The company had arranged for a driver to pick him up and there should be a someone waiting for him holding a sign… the crowd parts and he is greeted with the sight of a small redheaded woman wearing jeans and a hoodie, holding a sign that says “Castiel” in bold pink letters. And there’s glitter. A sense of panic begins to clench around his throat and he pushes it down, taking a few deep breaths.  
  
There is a man, dressed in a black suit, standing slightly behind the woman and he’s holding a sign in his hand as well. This one says “Mr. Morgan”. With a deep breath, Castiel weaves through the throng of people and comes to a stop in front of the odd couple.  
  
“I’m Mr. Morgan.”  
  
The woman is the quickest to react. “Hi! It’s so good to meet you. I’m Charlie Bradbury and this is Tim,” she says excitedly, looking over her shoulder at the man.  
  
Tim just nods, a blank expression on his face.  
  
“You’re my secretary?” Castiel asks her when his brain finally catches up. He recognizes her name from the paperwork. Now that he’s up close, he can see that she’s wearing a novelty T-shirt under her hoodie and she has headphones draped around her neck.  
  
Ms. Bradbury makes a strange tsking sound in her throat. “Secretary, tech support, office admin all rolled into one. I’d say I’m more like an executive assistant.” She looks at him with wide hazel eyes and a bit of a manic grin.  
  
He’s not at all sure how to respond. “That’s great,” he settles on. He’ll absolutely need to start looking for someone less effusive and more professional first thing Monday morning.  
  
“Do you need to get your luggage?” Ms. Bradbury asks. “Did you check your coat?”  
  
“No, this is all I have for now,” Castiel indicates his suitcase and garment bag. “The rest of my belongings are being shipped to my new residence.”  
  
“Awesome!” Ms. Bradbury motions for the men to follow her and they approach the doors. Cas can feel the cold draft seeping in and steels himself. How bad can it be? He asks himself again.  
  
They step through and for a split second, it’s not too cold. Then it hits him.  
  
“Oh my God!” Castiel says under his breath. _It’s really bad._  
  
When she notices he isn’t right behind her anymore, Ms. Bradbury turns around to look for him. He tries to smile, but it comes out more as a grimace.  
  
“You’ll probably want to get a warmer coat,” Ms. Bradbury says helpfully.  
  
“Yes, thank you.”  
  
The wind bites into his skin with razor sharp teeth and he feels the breath in his nose start to freeze. Fortunately the walk to the car isn’t too long, and once they’re settled in the driver starts the engine and the car warms up quickly.  
  
As the feeling returns to Castiel’s hands, Ms. Bradbury turns to him. “They wanted to just send the car to get you, but I thought you might like some company on the ride back. And I was so excited to meet you! You’re much younger than I expected. And so fashionable! Where did you get your outfit?”  
  
Castiel attempts to keep up with the deluge of chatter and it’s all he can do to answer, “All my clothes are custom made.”  
  
Ms. Bradbury seems over the moon at his response and continues on unhindered. “You look so smart! You’re definitely going to be the best dressed person at the factory - maybe even the whole town!”  
  
That is not an encouraging thought. It also doesn’t seem to matter that he doesn’t have anything to contribute to that subject, since she’s moved on to the next already.  
  
“Are you married? Have a girlfriend?” She asks.  
  
He didn’t think she’d be able to catch him off-guard yet again, but before he realizes it, he’s muttered, “No, I’m gay.” Castiel has a split second to think: _Here it comes. That infamous midwestern, small town bigotry._  
  
Except that’s not what happens.  
  
“Right on! Me too!” she enthuses and puts her hand up, clearly expecting a high five, and after a moment Castiel brings his hand up and barely taps it against hers. She seems satisfied with that response and continues on. “I live with my girlfriend Dorothy. I know a couple really great guys who are single, so you just let me know and I’ll get you their numbers.”  
  
“I’m not here to date, Ms. Bradbury,” Castiel says, not sure if he’s relieved or irritated. He settles on both.  
  
“There’s no reason you can’t have a social life.” She seems determined. Again, she changes the subject with lightning speed. “So what do you do for fun? Play any video games?”  
  
“No,” Castiel answers.. He doesn’t think he’s played a video game since he was maybe seven; is that something people his age do around here? He supposes that since it’s so cold, they have to entertain themselves indoors in some way.  
  
“Well, how about other hobbies? Are you crafty? Do you knit?”  
  
“Um, no?”  
  
“I love knitting! Maybe you’ll want to learn. You should hang out with our Stitch'n Bitch group!”  
  
Castiel makes a noncommittal noise, slightly irked that she would assume that since he’s gay he would know how to knit, of all things. He lets Ms. Bradbury’s chattering about the previous plant managers fade into the background for the rest of the drive. She says something about a glockenspiel, and warns him not to go into any materials storage rooms or participate in eating contests. It all blurs together as he stares out into the distance, watching the snow-covered fields and farmhouses fly by.  
  
The land is flat, unbroken by hills or mountains. The few trees dotted among the fields are bare of leaves, black silhouettes against the grey sky and white expanse of snow. Just visible in the distance through a thick haze is a train snaking its way between the widely-flung towns. Snow wisps across the road, making sinuous patterns as it eddies and flows with the wind.  
  
He’s never been in such a desolate, uncivilized place. He shudders, even though he’s perfectly warm; Charlie asks if he needs the heat turned up and he assures her he’s fine.  
  
Darkness gradually falls, the stars brighter than he’s ever seen them in Miami, and the lights of a small town appear over the horizon. They slowly make their way down the main street, driving past old-fashioned store fronts and cobblestone streets covered in snow that give the town a quaint, nostalgic feel. _It looks like winter in a theme park_ , Castiel thinks.  
  
At long last, the car pulls up in front of the house the company arranged for Castiel to live in. A company car sits in the driveway - some sort of small SUV - that Castiel hopes has snow tires already installed. Ms. Bradbury grabs an envelope from the pocket on the back of the driver’s seat and extracts a set of keys. She’s out of the car before Castiel can protest, so he grabs his bags and braces himself for the cold. It hits him like a sucker punch yet again.  
  
Trying not to shiver violently, he walks around to the driver’s side window and as Tim rolls it down, holds out a twenty dollar bill.  
  
“Oh, no, thank you, sir. The company compensates me,” Tim says.  
  
“Please, consider it hazard pay,” Castiel insists. “You had to deal with her babbling all the way to the airport.”  
  
Tim chuckles quietly and considers the offer, finally taking the money. “Thank you, Mr. Morgan.”  
  
“You’re very welcome. Thank you for picking me up.”  
  
Tim nods and rolls the window back up, and Castiel walks up to the porch.  
  
Ms. Bradbury is waiting for him, dancing in place to keep warm. “There’s a chill coming on,” she says. “Gonna get a whole lot colder.”  
  
“It gets _colder_?” Castiel says as they move inside the house.  
  
“Oh yeah,” Ms. Bradbury assures him. “Let’s get a fire started in here and I’ll get out of your hair.”  
  
She busies herself building a fire in the stove while Castiel wanders the first floor of the house. It’s cozy and cute and not something he would have chosen to purchase for himself, but it will do. He passes by an upright piano, frowning at it and closing the lid over the keys. He won’t be playing that while he’s here.  
  
“Oh, good, the electric is still on. Aren’t the hardwood floors amazing? Luckily, you’ve got rugs to keep from freezing the bejesus out of your toes,” Charlie comments as he passes her.  
  
Castiel hums vaguely, knowing that the woman hardly needs his participation to carry on a conversation. He checks out the small kitchen at the back of the house, making sure it will be adequate to prepare all his meals in. Again, he decides it will do.  
  
“Since it’s your first night in town,” Ms. Bradbury’s voice comes from the front room. He starts back towards her and she finishes, “you’re coming to my house for dinner. Nothing fancy, of course.”  
  
“Oh, that’s quite all right, Ms. Bradbury.” Castiel just wants to curl up under all the blankets in the house and not come out until spring. Besides, who knows what kind of fat-laden monstrosity this woman will foist upon him.  
  
“Don’t think we’re going to let you go hungry. Are you a vegetarian? Vegan?”  
  
“Ah, no. Not a vegetarian.”  
  
“Then it’s settled. See you at 6!” She hands him a piece of paper with directions and waves, letting herself out.

 

* * *

  
  
Castiel unpacks the few clothes he brought with him and then sits in front of his wood-burning stove, staring into the flames. The events of the past few days are a blur in his mind and he’s not quite sure how he got to this point. He resists the urge to pinch his arm; he knows this isn’t a nightmare he may eventually wake up from. He is entirely sure at this point that Zachariah planned this from the very beginning, as a plot to move up in the company. The bastard laid a trap with this project to get Castiel out of the way or to set him up to fail, and Castiel walked right into it. And while he knows that Zachariah is entirely to blame for where he is now, Castiel can’t help but be angry at himself for discounting how serious Zachariah’s efforts to move up the ladder had become. Castiel should definitely have seen this coming.    
  
With a groan, he decides he better get ready for dinner. What does one wear to a family dinner in a backwater town like this? Pulling out his most casual sweater, he layers as much as possible with two shirts underneath and doubles up his socks for good measure. He’s well aware a shopping spree is in his near future; he can only hope his tailor will be accommodating and provide some warmer clothes according to his latest measurements. Coats, heavy pants and many, many sweaters - those will all be necessary as soon as possible.  
  
Braving the cold yet again, Castiel makes a run for his company car, then sits in the driveway for fifteen minutes with the heat on full blast. When the car is finally warmed up, he drives into town in search of a grocery store that’s open this late in the evening. Finding a tiny mom and pop place, he searches in vain for a suitable bottle of wine to bring to dinner. He then sets off on a harrowing drive to Ms. Bradbury’s home, getting lost multiple times on the narrow, tree-lined streets, finally arriving twenty minutes late.  
  
Ms. Bradbury smiles at him, looking more than a little relieved, as she opens the door. “There you are. We were starting to get worried,” she chides.  
  
”I got lost.”  
  
”But you made it.”  
  
Castiel nods and holds out the bottle of wine he finally settled on, ”I didn't know whether to get red or white, but they only had Zinfandel...”  
  
A woman with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail steps up behind Ms. Bradbury, slinging her arm around the redhead’s shoulders. “Oh hell, anything you can uncork, uncap or unscrew, I'll drink it.”  
  
”This is my girlfriend, Dorothy Baum,” Ms. Bradbury says with an indulgent glance. ”You'd think she’s kidding, but she’s not.”  
  
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Baum,” Castiel says.  
  
Both women grimace and Ms. Bradbury says, “Seriously, dude, we’re on a first name basis around here.”  
  
He’s not used to fraternizing with the people he works with, so that will take some getting used to. Eager to get back on solid ground, he changes the subject. ”Is there somewhere I can put my coat?”  
  
”Oh, I'll take it,” Dorothy holds out her arm and Castiel hands his coat to her. He can hear the noise from a television coming from another room and Charlie leads the way down a hallway towards the sounds. ”Anyhow, Castiel, there's someone I think you should meet. I'm hoping you hit it off,” Charlie stops him and drops her voice. ”If you do, it will make your stay here in Minnesota a lot more pleasant.”  
  
Castiel clenches his jaw in order to avoid snapping at her. _Is she already trying to hook me up with someone? This is unbelievable._  
  
She gestures towards the living room and Castiel steps inside. There are two men and a teenage boy sitting on a low couch, watching a football game. None of them look up as they enter.  
  
”Castiel Morgan, this is Sam, Ben and Dean,” Charlie says loudly, trying to catch their attention. The man on the end coughs, caught in the midst of drinking his beer, as he catches sight of Castiel. He stands awkwardly, holding his hand out for Castiel to shake.  
  
”Nice to meet you, Cas,” Dean says. The man has beautiful green eyes and the most endearing scattering of freckles on his cheeks. The beginnings of a beard shadow his jaw, giving the man a rugged appearance.  
  
”You have beer dripping from your chin,” Castiel observes, without taking the proffered hand. “And please call me Castiel.”  
  
Dean rubs his hand down his chin, wiping off the mess as a flush creeps up his cheeks. If it weren't for Dean's manners, there might have been a chance Castiel would be interested.  
  
“May I use your restroom?” he asks Charlie with a fake, plastered-on smile  
  
“Oh yeah, of course. It’s the second door on the left,” she says and points down the hall.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
As Castiel steps into the bathroom, he sees Charlie smack Dean on the arm and Dean ducks his head bashfully. _Yes, it really is too bad he’s so unrefined._

 

* * *

  
  
Dinner itself doesn’t go much better. Dorothy’s cooking turns out to be surprisingly tasty - and healthy - but that’s the only positive thing.  
  
Castiel’s not sure he can ever hope to fit in around here. There’s Dean’s brother Sam, a huge man who laughs far too often, wearing a very similar flannel shirt to the one Dean is wearing. Ash, a much smaller man, has a shockingly out-of-date hairstyle (Castiel wasn’t aware anyone still wore their hair as a mullet) and is also wearing a flannel shirt, although his shirt has the arms ripped off for some unknown reason. And then there’s Jo, a firecracker of a woman who swears like a sailor and eats just as much as Sam.  
  
The teenage boy in the group, Ben, turns out to be Dean’s son. He is whip-smart, conversing like a person twice his age and at first Castiel is hard pressed to believe that he and Dean are related. But as Castiel watches Dean and Ben interact, he is forced to admit that his initial impression of Dean may have been a little on the unfair side.  
  
He decides he better attempt to make conversation if these are the people he will be associating with during his stay. “So, Dean, do you live around here?”  
  
Dean’s head snaps up from where he was intently cutting his roast chicken and stares at Castiel for a moment. Then he clears his throat and answers, “Yep, I live a bit closer to the middle of town. We moved here, oh, about 10 years ago. When Ben was 3.”  
  
Castiel gets caught up watching Dean’s lips as he speaks and doesn’t think before he asks, rather bluntly, “Why?”  
  
Everyone’s eyes focus on him and he hurries to clarify. “I mean, not that it isn’t nice, I’m sure? I just mean, why such a small town? Not the big city?”  
  
Dean looks down at his plate again, then over towards Ben. “I grew up in a small town - I like how everyone knows each other and helps each other out. And what’s so great about a big city?”  
  
_Surely, he’s joking,_ Castiel thinks. “Well, there’s the cultural advantages: museums, the symphony, theater. As well as upscale restaurants, nightlife…”  
  
Jo makes a snorting noise at the mention of “nightlife”, and mutters, ”Like any of these buffoons go out dancing.”  
  
Charlie stifles a laugh and chimes in, “There’s plenty to do in a town like this. We can show you around.”  
  
Though he nods in an attempt to placate the group, Castiel strongly doubts that he’ll be anything but bored out of his mind.  
  
After a few minutes of inane conversation about upcoming events in town, Dean watches Castiel move his food around on his plate - his nerves are starting to get the best of him - and he silently begs Dean not to say anything about it. Instead, Dean quips, ”You know, Cas, we're pretty low-key around here. There's no need to be quite so dressed up.”  
  
Bristling at the continued use of the uninvited nickname, Castiel sits up even straighter in his chair. ”I prefer to keep a professional appearance at all times,” he responds, somewhat coldly.  
  
”Well, a working man -”  
  
”Or woman,” Jo interjects.  
  
“- _someone_ who works hard for a living has to dress in clothes that won't be ruined by a bit of stray oil or dirt. Doesn't mean they're not professional,” Dean insists.  
  
”I assure you, I work extremely hard. Those individuals with jobs involving manual labor could aim higher and dress for the job they want -“  
  
Dean cuts him off, leaning forward in his chair. ”All those executives sit around in their shiny offices, wearing fancy suits, while the rest of us work our asses off.”  
  
”I'm planning on being an executive,” Castiel practically growls.  
  
”Well, then you'll be just as useless as the rest of them, Cas.”  
  
”I really would prefer if you called me Castiel or Mr. Morgan.”  
  
A glance around the table reveals a bevy of shocked faces and suddenly Castiel feels thoroughly embarrassed, and ashamed, at his outburst. He stands, the legs of the chair screeching on the hardwood floor.  
  
”My apologies. It has been a long day,” he says in an attempt to excuse his behavior. ”I will take my leave.”  
  
He tries his best to ignore the snort from Dean's end of the table as he makes his way to the front door. Charlie follows, grabbing his coat for him.  
  
”See you in the morning,” she says as she pats his shoulder gently. “Try to stay warm, OK?”  
  
He nods stiffly and steps back out into the cold. On the drive home, he tells himself that he just has to finish the job he came here to do and then he’ll be able to go back home where it’s warm again before he knows it. _Who am I kidding? This is going to be a disaster._

 

* * *

  
  
Castiel is jolted from a dreamless sleep by the shrill sound of his alarm and he shifts under his mountain of blankets. As soon as he’d arrived back at the house the night before, he had pulled out every blanket he could find, searching every closet and disregarding how musty they smelled and piled them on the bed. Despite his best efforts, it had taken hours to fall asleep and he feels the effects now as he sits up and stretches his stiff, cold muscles.  
  
Keeping one of the quilts wrapped around his shoulders, he lowers his bare feet to the floor, only to snatch them back up with a yelp when they come in contact with the ice-cold hardwood.  
  
_Note to self: move a rug to the bedroom,_ he thinks. _Also, wear socks to bed._  
  
The rest of his morning routine is as haphazard as can be expected: it’s obviously too cold to go for a run, and the water takes forever to heat up past lukewarm when he takes a shower. The last straw is the fact that he forgot to pack his expensive, designer hair gel and he will have to leave his hair a disheveled mess. He usually goes for the artfully tousled look; today he will have to settle for merely tousled.  
  
Since the food he ordered online a few days earlier hasn’t been delivered yet, he heads out of the house without breakfast, hoping to find a place to stop on the way to work. The town of New Ulm appears much different in the daylight; it looks less like a theme park and more a typical small midwestern town covered with a layer of old snow. A majority of the shops along Main Street are just about to open as he drives by and he sees a quaint but respectable-looking cafe, where he stops to grab some coffee. After making a note of where the bank is located, as well as the drugstore and the grocery store, he takes a few more turns and gets his first glimpse of the factory.  
  
There are a few cars in the lot when he arrives at the plant at 8 am sharp, but the office area turns out to be empty. Clearly Ms. Bradbury hasn’t seen fit to be on time. The building looks to have been built in the 70s: the walls are all wood panels and the windows are dingy. Even the tired, worn out waiting chairs scattered around the room look to be original to the building. At least the computers seem to be new and Castiel hopes that the internet connection is from this decade. He shudders at the thought of connecting his laptop to dial-up.  
  
Taking a moment to look at the photos of past factory foremen hung on the wall, he leans close to the latest image, which shows an older man with a beard and slicked back hair. The sound of someone clearing their throat startles Castiel and he whips around. He’s faced with the man from the photograph, only the real version has a grumpy expression instead of an awkward smile and is wearing a hard hat and a pair of worn coveralls.  
  
“Robert Singer, factory foreman. I'm supposed to show you around,” he introduces himself in a flat, uninterested tone. Castiel sees the man’s eyes flick up to look at his messy hair, but then he hands him a hard hat and walks away without another word.  
  
Castiel considers the hard hat for a moment, sparing a thought for how his hair will look once he takes it off, then shrugs and puts it on. His hair can hardly get any worse.  
  
Once they’re through the doors that state very clearly “hard hats required”, he’s greeted by the sights and sounds of a factory at work.  
  
“This is your main production floor. You’ve got your cutters, stitching machines, presses, storage shelves...” Mr. Singer says above the din of the machines, pointing vaguely at each station and then trails off. Satisfied with his impromptu tour, the foreman turns to exit the work area, but Castiel reaches out to stop him.  
  
“I'd really like to speak with the workers,” Castiel says loudly. He’s determined to do this job right. “Where can I do that?”  
  
Mr. Singer gestures to a platform at the front of the room and as Castiel mounts the stairs, the machines grind to a halt around him. “Hello, New Ulm. This is a great opportunity. I’m here to usher in a new era of highly profitable, quality defense gear. This will be an exciting utilization of new materials -”  
  
“Cut to the chase,” Mr. Singer interrupts just as Castiel is starting to get into the flow of his speech. “We don't give a great goose fart on a muggy day what you're making us make. Just tell us how many you're planning on laying off.”  
  
“Management at Elysium Clothing in Miami has sent me here to conduct modernization procedures in order to streamline the manufacturing process,” Castiel starts again, trying to get back on track.  
  
“Yeah, you guys all say that crap. But every time one of you comes we end up losing jobs.” The man crosses his arms as he cuts Castiel off yet again.  
  
“Well, I'm interested in the jobs we'll create,” Castiel states. “If you're not, that's fine, but I'll expect you to implement the changes in a timely manner. Is that clear?”  
  
He’s met with a sea of sullen expressions but he figures that’s the most he can expect. Stepping down off the platform, he stalks back to the offices, fuming to himself about ungrateful people. Can’t they see he’s just trying to make their lives better?  
  
As he rounds the corner into the office area, he finds Ms. Bradbury at her desk, speaking on the phone.  
  
“Nice try, Tracy. You’re never going to convince me to ship them. I’m devoted to my OTP,” she says as she types absentmindedly on her computer. Castiel stands in front of her desk, arms stiff at his sides, and as soon as Ms. Bradbury sees him, her eyes widen. “All right, listen, gotta go. Okay, yeah, we’ll watch the episode again tonight.”  
  
He barely resists tapping his toe and hopes his expression is appropriately disapproving. Glancing at Ms. Bradbury’s desk, he sees a pile of yarn and some knitting needles taking up an entire half of the surface.  
  
“I know, yep. OK, bye.” She hangs up and looks sheepish for a moment, then she smiles. “Good morning! Sorry about that. Tracy always wants to discuss the latest episode of our favorite show -”  
  
“Well, I doubt your television show or your knitting project -“ he gestures at her desk “- are going to affect the plant, so let's just stick to work if we could.”  
  
Ms. Bradbury nods, pressing her lips together in a thin line.  
  
“Please join me in my office,” he says.  
  
Once they are inside, he picks up his briefcase and sets it on his desk. The office is sparse, but functional. It will do, he supposes.  
  
“Sorry I was late, I had some errands that needed to be done,” she says and Castiel has had enough. He turns to face her, pulling himself up to his full height.  
  
“I am a professional, Ms. Bradbury. When it's time to work, I concentrate on work. And I expect one's personal life to be kept personal.”  
  
Ms. Bradbury’s nodding and assuring him, “I understand, Mr Morgan.”  
  
He thinks about the events of the evening before and feels compelled to make himself completely clear. “But not you, apparently. You're trying to set me up after having just met me!”  
  
“Well, actually…” Ms. Bradbury attempts to cut in.  
  
“I am here to do a job. I will not get personally attached to this town or anybody in it,” he continues forcefully.  
  
“Okay, but listen…”  
  
He throws his hands up in exasperation. “For the sake of argument, let's say I did want to date someone. Trying to hook me up with Dean? I may be in the middle of nowhere, but I am not so desperate that I would consider a man who wears _flannel_.”  
  
“Right, no flannel,” Ms. Bradbury agrees, desperation lacing her voice. “That will definitely shrink the dating pool around here.”  
  
“Good. Now that that's clear, let's just move on, so I can spend the rest of the morning dealing with the local union rep.” There are a million things Castiel would rather do, but working with the union is a necessary part of his job here, so he’ll suck it up.  
  
“Who I think is here, actually,” Charlie say, lowering her voice oddly, like she’s trying not to be overheard outside the office.  
  
He nods sharply and walks out his door, stopping short when he sees Dean sitting in a chair, waiting patiently outside Castiel’s office. His mind goes entirely blank and he spins back around to face Ms. Bradbury once more.  
  
“Why is he out there?” He hisses.  
  
“Funny story.” It doesn’t look like she’s laughing. He feels his forehead crease in a confused frown.  
  
“It might have been presumptuous of me to try to set you up,” Ms. Bradbury begins to explain in a low voice, “but I thought it might help professionally if you were to meet the union rep for all of southeastern Minnesota casually over a nice home-cooked dinner.”  
  
“Dean is the local union rep?” _This cannot be happening._  
  
“That's right.”  
  
“The man that I yelled at over your roast chicken?” Maybe Castiel will wake up and this whole last week will have been a nightmare, after all.  
  
Ms. Bradbury nods. There’s nothing to be done except square his shoulders and face the music. Walking through the door once more, he acknowledges the man sitting outside the office.  
  
“Mr. Winchester,” Castiel greets him curtly.  
  
“You can call me Dean,” he replies as he stands. “Though some people refer to me as ‘flannel guy’.”  
  
“I beg your pardon?” Castiel is perfectly happy playing dumb.  
  
A smirk plays across Dean’s face. “Union's been pushing for better soundproofing in this plant, but I think they should probably extend it to the office walls, too.”  
  
The man is insufferable, but Castiel plasters a pleasant smile on his face and he gestures towards his office. “Shall we?”

 

* * *

  
  
Hours later, after multiple loud arguments and tense moments, they have made little to no progress. Dean finally storms out and Castiel springs out of his chair, pacing in his office. He decides he needs some fresh air and walks out his door, only to find Charlie has made a huge mess in the front room. There are balls of yarn and half-finished knitting projects piled around her work area and she’s sitting on the floor against the side of the desk drinking coffee.  
  
She looks at him with sympathetic eyes and he realizes: the office walls are thin, she probably heard every word he and Dean yelled at one another. Deciding against going on a walk, he spins and heads right back into his office.  
  
Castiel doesn’t get a moment of peace; as soon as he settles into his chair once more, his laptop dings, letting him know he has an instant message. With a sigh, he pulls up the IM program and sees that Zachariah wants a status report. Thankfully the internet at the office is blazing fast and messaging will be the best way to deal with the home office.  
  
**How is the first day going?** The message reads.  
  
**It's been a very productive day. I've spoken to the employees and the plant foreman and they are very engaged in the process. I've laid out my work strategy with my assistant.** Castiel only feels a little bit guilty about putting a positive spin on the events of the day.  
  
**Excellent.** Zachariah responds.  
  
**I've begun dialoguing with the local union rep. I'm sure I'll be able to forge a working relationship there.** Castiel’s face twists into a frown as he types - that may be a more serious overstatement.  
  
**All right, but if we're going to downsize by 50 percent, I need you to prioritize your termination list.**  
  
**Oh, I’m already on that.** Castiel answers. Pulling up a spreadsheet titled “Terminations”, he types in “Robert Singer”.  
  
Without any warning, his office door opens and Ms. Bradbury peeks her head in. “Hey!” she greets him with a wide grin. “I wanted to let you know that my desk is finally all clean and professional. No more knitting projects!” She nods, looking very satisfied with herself. “Do you need anything?”  
  
As if answering her question, Castiel’s stomach rumbles hungrily. Embarrassed, he attempts to pretend it didn’t happen, but she looks down at his midsection with a concerned expression.  
  
“Did you bring anything for lunch? Dorothy packed me some leftovers and there’s more than enough to go around.”  
  
“No, thank you, Ms. Bradbury, I’m fine,” he says sternly, straightening in his chair. “I am in the middle of an online meeting. Please remember to knock in the future.”  
  
“I’m so sorry,” she says, backing out of the room.  
  
Castiel stares at the door for a few minutes, then types “Charlie Bradbury” into the termination list.

 

* * *

  
  
At the end of the First Day from Hell, Castiel drags himself out of his office and considers stopping by the liquor store on the way home. Before he can escape, Ms. Bradbury reaches under her desk and pulls out a bag, holding it out to him.  
  
“What’s this?” Castiel asks dubiously as he takes the bag, pulling out a thick garment.  
  
“I thought you probably hadn’t had a chance to go shopping for a warmer coat, so I figured I’d pick up one for you. These are the best coats ever.”  
  
He shakes it out to find that it is a heavy overcoat that does indeed look very warm. And it’s fur-lined. _Hallelujah_.  
  
“When did you…” he starts.  
  
“On my way in this morning,” she says, busying herself with picking up her belongings and shrugging into her own coat. “There’s also a scarf in there. It was the only one I had on hand; the color really doesn’t suit you, but I’ll get some yarn for you in the next batch in a couple weeks and knit you a new one.”  
  
Looking back into the bag, he pulls out a long, fuzzy scarf in a forest green color. It appears to be handmade; it’s a bit knobby and uneven, but it’s better than nothing. Pulling it around his neck, he’s surprised by how soft the wool feels on his skin.  
  
“Nice, huh?” Charlie says as she sees him run the material through his fingers. “We get wool from a local sheep farm that breeds the sheep for super soft wool. Then Dorothy spins it into yarn.”  
  
His surprise must be obvious, as she laughs and continues, “It sounds like a lot of work but we really enjoy it.”  
  
Then it hits him: this is why she was late this morning. She was doing something nice for him, without being asked. None of his subordinates had ever done anything nice just because.  
  
And he’d yelled at her for it. _Shit_.  
  
“Thank you, Ms. Bradbury. I... I really appreciate it.” An apology is on the tip of his tongue but at the last moment he can’t say it.  
  
“Anytime, boss.” They smile at each other for a moment and then he pulls on the coat before exiting the building, feeling much warmer already.


	2. How Could I Make Sense to You?

The rest of Castiel’s things from home, as well as the new items he had ordered immediately after he flew in, arrive a few days later. He finally has a new bottle of hair gel and the plush rug he’d relocated to his bedroom does wonders for his toes in the morning. He tries to force himself to run a few afternoons a week, but it's hard to get past the way his breath freezes in his lungs.  
  
His tailor comes through for him like a hero; within a week he has a couple new thick coats and a stack of stylish sweaters (although they won't fit for long if he keeps avoiding exercise). Charlie continues to be impressed by his wardrobe and on one disconcerting occasion, he finds himself giving her fashion advice. She comes in the next day, on time, dressed much more professionally, and he decides he doesn’t need to find a replacement, after all.  
  
The town has begun to be familiar and he doesn’t feel lost while driving around as much anymore. The novelty of a 5 minute commute has not worn off one bit, and he starts to wonder how he ever put up with being stuck in a car more than two hours each day. He’s starting to feel better about being in Minnesota.  
  
Of course, as soon as he starts to think positive, everything starts to go downhill.  
  
About two weeks after he got caught up in this unfortunate situation, he’s ready to make the first of the adjustments to the manufacturing equipment. He meets up with Mr Singer first thing in the morning and lays out the plans on a spare table.  
  
“We need to move these machines to make room for the new production equipment; the current production line is so outdated, it’s absurd.” He gestures at an arrangement of plastic-draped machinery against the back wall. “I also would like to start removing that junk to make some room on the floor.”  
  
Apparently the foreman does not agree; when Castiel looks up, Mr. Singer is shaking his head.  
  
"Sorry, son," Mr. Singer says gruffly, crossing his arms. "That's not the way we do things."  
  
Another of the workers, an older man named Rufus, is standing next to them and sees fit to offer his opinion as well: “Nope, not the way we do things. Not the way at all.”  
  
“You're going to have to make some concessions,” Castiel says, exasperated.  
  
Mr. Singer simply raises an eyebrow.  
  
“These changes need to be made.” Castiel pulls himself up to his full height, giving himself a couple inches’ advantage over the foreman. “It will be with your cooperation or you may find that the operation of this plant is no longer your concern.”  
  
Hoping his threats will inspire action, Castiel retreats to his office to work on production analyses and make some additions to his terminations list. After a 2 pm phone meeting with the Miami office, he stands, reaching his arms into the air to stretch his back, then steps out into the lobby.  
  
He is met with silence.  
  
During the day, the machines never stop running, not even at lunch. The workers have staggered schedules so the machines don’t need to be shut down and subsequently restarted after lunchtime and in the middle of the day there should be a cacophonous whir of banging and rattling. Right now, there is nothing.  
  
Ms. Bradbury is nowhere to be seen and Castiel marches through the production floor door to find every single worker sitting on their asses.  
  
From his perch in the center of the room, Rufus smirks at Castiel and says, “Sorry, bossman. It seems as though nothin’ works.”  
  
Making every effort to keep his expression impassive, Castiel squares his shoulders. “You expect me to believe that every machine in the line just broke down at the same time?” he demands incredulously.  
  
Rufus simply shrugs, that smirk still on his face.  
  
Castiel opens his mouth and then closes it, at a loss for words. He walks toward the door, but just before he exits the room, he turns back and addresses the group.  
  
“No production means no pay. Get a repairman in here or see if the machines miraculously come back to life, I don’t care. Otherwise, you can all leave for the day.”  
  
As he walks back through the office area, he sees Ms. Bradbury has returned to her desk. She looks at him with a glint of fear in her eyes, but she manages to keeps a straight face.  
  
“Please summon Mr. Singer to my office, Ms. Bradbury,” he says in clipped tones, returning to his desk.  
  
Within ten minutes, the foreman comes ambling in and sits down across from Castiel. “What can I do for you, Mr. Morgan?” Mr. Singer says, managing to sound completely unaware of what’s happening on the factory floor at that precise moment.  
  
“As I’m sure you can tell from this blissful silence, all the machines in the building are currently ‘malfunctioning’.” He restrains himself from making air quotes with his fingers.  
  
“Is that so?” the foreman drawls.  
  
“It is. I have informed the workers that since there is no work being done, they can either get the machines back up and running, or go home for the rest of the day without pay.” Castiel tries his best to keep his hands from forming into tight fists on his desk, forcing himself to relax and deal with this insubordination with a clear head.  
  
“Well, like you said earlier, those machines are old. It’s not outside the realm of possibility that they’d break down.”  
  
“All at once?” Castiel says in a rush. He takes a deep breath. _Keep calm_ , he tells himself.  
  
“Oh yeah,” Mr. Singer nods his head as if this sort of thing happens all the time. “The way I see it, its hardly the fault of the employees and they shouldn’t be punished by having their pay docked.”  
  
Bringing one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, Castiel sighs deeply. After a moment he looks back up at Mr. Singer and nods stiffly. “Fine. Full pay for the rest of the day, but if it happens again -“  
  
“It won’t, not since we’re getting that new fancy equipment in soon, right?” The man looks entirely too pleased for Castiel’s liking.  
  
“Right,” Castiel answers. “Send everyone home. Should I call a repairman to come look at the machines?”  
  
“Nah, I know ‘em inside and out. They should be up and running by tomorrow.”  
  
“See that they are.”  
  
Castiel sends Ms. Bradbury home as well, and waits another hour before he leaves, in case anyone chose to hang around while Mr. Singer repairs the machinery. He’d rather not be forced to interact with any of the employees on his way out of the building; he’s still irritated and would probably snap at anyone who tried to talk to him.  
  
Once he’s out the door, he drives around town aimlessly until he comes to an area he hasn’t been to yet. He really should go for a run, clear his head, but he doesn’t feel like going to his house. Instead he decides that he could really use a drink, even though it’s too early in the day for any bars to be open. Finally he comes across a restaurant called The Roadhouse with a flashing marquee declaring a variety of beers on tap as well as Maker’s Mark whiskey.  
  
The interior is dark and he can barely make out a few clusters of people in the corners of the room. Approaching the bar, he sits at a stool and begins peeling off the layers of clothing wrapped around his upper body. The bartender comes by and he suppresses a groan when he see it’s someone he knows: the blonde woman from the disastrous dinner at Ms. Bradbury’s house weeks ago. Racking his brain for her name, he is relieved to see that’s she’s wearing a name badge that says “Jo”.  
  
She smirks, and leans her elbows on top of the bar. “Heard you had a bit of a rough day,” she says, sarcasm heavy in her voice.  
  
Castiel is shocked silent for a moment - _how could she possibly know that?_  
  
Correctly guessing his thoughts, she tilts her head towards the back of the room. “It’s a small town.”  
  
Looking over his shoulder, Castiel finds that his vision has adjusted to the dim light in the bar and he can see there’s a group from the factory gathered against the back wall. One of the men snorts in amusement when he sees Castiel looking their way and starts murmuring to the rest of the group.  
  
Jo rolls her eyes when Castiel turns back around. “Are you sure you don’t want to give up now and go back to Malibu or wherever it is you came from?”  
  
“Miami,” he corrects. “And no, I’m not leaving. I have a job to do.”  
  
Looking at him with a little more respect, she hums quietly and starts lining up shot glasses on the bar. “Good. They’re all just a bunch of assholes anyway.”  
  
“Joanna Beth, you better not be using that kind of language where my customers can hear you,” a woman’s voice emanates from the back room.  
  
“Sorry, mom,” Jo says, smiling unapologetically the whole time. She fills up a line of shot glasses and nods toward them. “There you go.”  
  
He’s on shot number three when Sam Winchester comes in and Castiel is feeling just relaxed enough to invite the man to sit next to him and strike up a conversation.  
  
“Hey man, how are you?” Sam greets him, clapping a hand on his back.  
  
“I’m well,” he answers and after a moment offers, “Can I buy you a drink?”  
  
It turns out that Sam is very friendly and pleasant to talk to, and Castiel is impressed when he learns that Sam is a successful lawyer. Also, he cares about his brother very much; Sam moved here to New Ulm to be near Dean and Castiel thinks that only the deepest love would inspire someone to relocate to such a desolate place.  
  
Before he knows it, Castiel has drunk every shot Jo had set in front of him. The world is starting to blur around the edges and there’s a pleasant tingling in all his extremities. He looks up to see her grinning at him and he says, “I think I’m starting to feel something.”  
  
This statement causes both Sam and Jo to break out into gales of laughter and Castiel giggles along with them, not really understanding what’s quite so funny.  
  
Sam slings an arm around his shoulders. “You’re a good guy. You just need to relax a bit and see things from the locals’ perspectives.”  
  
“I’m not asking for a lot,” Castiel protests. He gestures vaguely, attempting to gather his thoughts from wherever they wandered off to. “Just a bit of respect. I’m trying to make everyone’s lives easier. A proactive approach to streamline production creates a win-win situation.”  
  
“Uh huh, whatever you say, man,” Sam says.  
  
“Of course, it requires strategization and advanced specialization,” Castiel continues, warming up to his subject.  
  
“I don’t think strategization is a real word...” Jo says.  
  
“I’m glad we’re dialoguing,” Castiel forges on.  
  
“Not sure about that one, actually,” Sam comments, shaking his head. As Castiel sways on his barstool, Sam says, “All right Castiel, I’m taking you home.”  
  
“Is that a flirtation?”  
  
Jo throws her head back and laughs.  
  
“No, you’re not really my type, buddy.” Sam blushes a bit, but takes Castiel’s arm gently and helps him down from his seat, steadying him when he stumbles. Pocketing Castiel’s keys, he says, “I’ll bring your car by tomorrow, ok?”  
  
“Thank you, Sam,” Castiel says. He walks very carefully out the door of the bar, since the world is tilting quite alarmingly now, and follows the huge man to his equally huge truck.  
  
Halfway home, he falls asleep with his head pillowed on Sam’s shoulder.  
  
Waking up with a pounding headache, and a mouth that feels like the Sahara, he finds that he’s sprawled out on top of his bed, wearing the same clothes he had been wearing the day before. There’s a shrill beeping sound digging an ice pick into his skull and he fumbles with his phone to turn off his alarm, but realizes that’s not what’s making the godawful racket. Cracking one eye open, he peeks out his window to see a tow truck backing up in front of his house, his car perched precariously on the back.  
  
Dean steps out of the truck and unhooks the car. Confused, Castiel looks at his phone again and sees there’s a string of text messages from Sam.  
  
**Locked ur keys in ur house w you last night.**  
  
**Dean said he’d tow ur car to ur house this morning**  
  
**Good luck w hangover**  
  
With a groan, Castiel falls face down on the bed again and sleeps the rest of the day away.

 

* * *

  
  
One morning about a week before Thanksgiving, Castiel pulls up to the plant and is dismayed to find the lot nearly empty. He sees Charlie’s tiny yellow car parked as haphazardly as ever, but other than that there’s no one at work today. He's surprised the workers have the tenacity to defy him yet again so soon after they had pulled their stunt with the machines.  
  
Stalking through the door, he sees Charlie standing by the coffee machine, decked out in all her various fur-lined winter items. He rushes up to her, full of righteous indignation and gives her a look that would send most sensible people running for the hills. Charlie merely smiles perkily and greets him like always.  
  
“Oh, hi there.”  
  
Castiel keeps glaring.  
  
“It's official,” she says. “The lake’s frozen enough to drive on, so Bobby declared it a holiday.”  
  
“He did, did he?” Finally catching on to Castiel’s thunderous expression, Charlie’s smile fades. “And where can I find Bobby?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous.  
  
“All the ice fishermen are at the lake today. Bobby will be in the center of the group, in the biggest and brightest colored shelter.”  
  
“Thank you.” Castiel spins around, marching back to his car. He hightails it to the lake, driving much more recklessly than usual and attempts to get his temper under control. _How dare Bobby do this?_  
  
As he arrives at the edge of the lake, he slows his SUV and ponders his choices. Despite the locals’ claims that he can drive directly onto the lake, Castiel has his doubts. How the structures perched on top of the ice fishing holes don't crack the surface, he'll never understand, and he’s not about to add the weight of his car on top of that as well. He decides to follow his instincts and parks among a few old beat up pickups and sedans on the shore.  
  
He pulls his scarf tightly around his neck, jams a hat on his head and strikes out across the frozen expanse, following the sinuous trail of car tracks in the snow. The ice stretches out in front of him and he shivers, trying not to think about the freezing cold water trapped under the surface.  
  
When he reaches the main circle of shacks, the snow has been cleared away and the ice is exposed, so he slips and slides his way to the door of Bobby’s shelter. Opening the door, he is greeted by a group of satisfyingly shocked individuals, including Bobby Singer reclining against the wall, with a fishing line dropped through the hole in the ice at this feet.  
  
“Aww, dammit. Who invited the bossman?” Bobby gripes.  
  
The casual title sends Castiel over the edge. _Does no one take me seriously?_ “You miserable son of a bitch. Ice Day? What, an entire factory of ‘malfunctioning’ equipment wasn't enough?”  
  
No one says a thing. Good. He has their attention now. “Well, you've underestimated who you're messing with, Robert Singer,” Castiel sneers the man’s name. “You're fired.”  
  
With that, he exits the shelter, slamming the door behind him.  
  
Turning away from the ice fishing shacks, Castiel contemplates the walk back. Adrenaline is coursing through his body, overshadowing his better judgement; seeing a slightly shorter distance to shore off to his right, he heads that way instead of following the route he came by.  
  
He’s fuming, muttering curses to himself and doesn’t pay attention to where he’s stepping.  About midway to the shore, the ice starts changing colors - light blue and dark blue are swirled together in a strange pattern. He thinks that might be a bad sign, but he’s never had occasion to wonder about the safety of walking on ice before.  
  
Suddenly, he hears the sound he expected all along: the ice is cracking. He stops in his tracks and tries to back up slowly, but it's too late. With a sickening lurch, the surface of the lake gives way, and he has a moment of clarity: _I’m going to die_. He plunges into the ice cold water, and he manages a frightened yelp before all the breath is shocked from his lungs and he is dragged completely under.

 

* * *

  
  
Dark stars explode in Castiel's vision and he doesn’t know which way is up. He flails his arms, hoping he’ll find the hole in the ice, but when he does find the surface of the lake with one boot, it’s completely solid above him. Twisting his body upward, he feels the rough underside of the ice, scratching his gloved fingers futilely against it. Everything is muted, the pressure of the water close around him, shutting out all other sounds.  
  
Gradually, his movements slow as he loses feeling in his arms and legs, then his whole body  is numb, floating in the murky water. One final bubble of breath escapes and he closes his eyes for what he expects to be the last time.  
  
He feels a tug on the back of his coat and his head clears the surface, gasping for air in huge gulps.  
  
“I’ve got you,” says a voice in his ear. “Just breathe.” Castiel cranes his head over his shoulder and is met with the sight of bright green eyes. _Dean_.  
  
The man is flat on his stomach on the ice, stretching out as far as he can to hold onto Castiel, and he holds out a rope, which he then threads around Castiel’s chest. Looking closely, Castiel sees that the other end of the rope is tied around Dean’s waist, anchoring them together.  
  
Still trying to catch his breath, Castiel sees more people arrive, but they stay where the ice is still solid. Then Sam pushes through to the front of the group and flattens himself onto the ice, sliding up behind Dean.  
  
"Sammy! I told you to stay back,” Dean grits out as he pulls Castiel toward him until his shoulder blades are pressed to the edge of the hole in the ice.  
  
Sam hooks a hand around Dean’s ankle with a determined look on his face. "I know, but I wanted to make sure you didn't fall in, too."  
  
Rolling his eyes, Dean focuses back on Castiel. “Ready?” he asks, but starts to pull on the rope before Castiel can answer. Castiel isn’t even shivering anymore and he’s vaguely aware that _this is not good_. Very slowly, his body is dragged from the water, and before long Dean switches his grip to under Castiel’s armpits and then his belt loops. One of Sam’s large hands clamps onto Castiel’s wrist and he is completely free of the water, at last.  
  
Both Dean and Sam slither backwards, pulling Castiel back onto solid ice. There's a cheer from the crowd; Castiel only has a moment to reflect on how strange it is to feel frozen completely solid and then he is being manhandled into Dean’s arms and carried towards the shelters.  
  
"How you doing?" Dean asks as he kicks open one of the shelter doors, then sets Castiel down on a bench along one wall. Dean bustles around, switching on a space heater and gathering blankets.    
  
“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Castiel croaks, grimacing at how raw his throat feels.  
  
“Come on man, give me a break here,” Dean says, stepping back into Castiel’s personal space. An apology is on the tip of Castiel’s tongue when Dean begins to unbutton Castiel’s coat. When he starts on his pants, his still lethargic thoughts grind completely to a halt.  
  
“What are you doing, Mr. Winchester?” Castiel blurts, feeling an odd sensation of blood attempting to rush to his cheeks in spite of how cold his skin still is.  
  
“Just trying to help you get warm, Cas,” Dean insists as he pulls him to his feet. “Not gonna happen if you stay in wet clothes.” He strips off Castiel’s coat, sweater and undershirt, then presses a heat pack to Castiel’s chest. Castiel gasps at the warmth suffusing his body.  
  
“I’m fine,” Castiel insists. He attempts to help when Dean continues undressing him, but his limbs are clumsy and uncoordinated.  
  
Batting his hands away, Dean answers, “No, you’re really not.”  
  
After dragging Castiel’s pants down his legs, Dean guides him to sit on the bench again and drapes a thick knitted blanket over his shoulders. Dean pulls Castiel in close, rubbing his hands along Castiel’s arms and sides.  
  
Feeling slightly dizzy from all the moving around, Castiel slumps downward, pressing himself against Dean. He feels Dean laugh, the sound rumbling in his ear. “Don’t get any ideas,” he protests, his words muffled against Dean’s firm chest. “You’re warm.”  
  
“Your virtue is safe with me, Cas.”  
  
"For your information, I do not need to be rescued like a damsel in distress by Prince Charming,” Castiel says, his voice beginning to slur. “And my name is Castiel.”  
  
“All right, I’m sorry,” Dean answers, pulling away to start chafing at Castiel’s legs. “I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to remember you hate that nickname. And you think I’m charming?”  
  
“No! Why would you say that?” Castiel can’t seem to stop shivering and his brain feels fuzzy.  
  
A slight frown appears on Dean’s face. Castiel mumbles something about wanting to be taken seriously, then there’s a flurry of activity as two paramedics burst into the shelter. It feels like he’s in a movie, watching from afar Dean scoops him up again, carrying him to the waiting gurney. As he’s bundled up in a heated blanket, he has one last glimpse of Dean’s concerned expression before his vision fades out and he’s gone.

 

* * *

  
  
The world is dim when Castiel comes to, and he gradually becomes aware that he’s lying in a hospital bed. He shifts, wincing as his movements pull on the IV in his arm. He still feels a bit fuzzy-headed, but at least he’s warm. His mind flashes back through the events that lead him here and he tries not to think about that moment when the ice gave way and he plunged into the water. So naturally, that’s the only thing he can think about. Finally he focuses his thoughts on the moment he knew he’d be all right, the moment when he met Dean’s worried eyes and felt relief overwhelm him despite the fact he was still in the water.  
  
A nurse comes by to check on him and not too long after, he falls back asleep. Sun shines into the room as he wakes up the second time and he hears whispers coming from the other side of his room. Looking over, he sees that it’s Charlie, Jo and Ash.  
  
“Good morning!” Charlie enthuses as she steps forward and begins fluffing Castiel’s pillows.  
  
“Hello,” he responds, surprised at the gravelly quality to his voice. He clears his throat and before he can even ask, Charlie hands him a glass of water. Warm, thankfully, with not a shard of ice to be seen.  
  
“We just wanted to come by to check on you, make sure you’re all thawed out.” So much for not having any reminders of his ordeal.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel sees Jo slap her palm to her forehead in second-hand embarrassment at Charlie's comment. “Yes, I’m feeling much better, thank you,” he responds.  
  
“That’s so great. Listen, we won’t stay too long, but we made you something and thought you should have it right away.” Jo steps forward to hand Charlie a folded blanket, who shakes it out and starts laying it over Castiel’s legs.  
  
“It’s beautiful. You didn't have to do that,” he answers almost automatically.  
  
“Oh, we know,” Jo says. “But we did it anyways.”  
  
He can’t figure out if she’s being facetious or just blunt, so he smiles and thanks them. Looking closer, he sees that it is a patchwork of different knitted sections, each one clearly done by a different hand. Castiel continues to be surprised by the generosity and kindness of the people in this small town - the ones who aren’t convinced he’s here to ruin their livelihoods, of course.  
  
“Dean and Sam will be by later, I think,” Charlie pipes up. The beeping sound from his heart monitor speeds up slightly and Charlie giggles. “How about that rescue?” she says with a laugh and elbows Jo. “No wonder he’s looking twitterpated.”  
  
Castiel can’t imagine how one might look “twitterpated.”  
  
“Getting saved by a dreamy guy like that, no one could blame you for getting a little crush, you know?” Charlie says.  
  
He gets a strange swooping sensation in his stomach and he only barely manages to say, “Crush? On Dean?” He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”  
  
Charlie nods knowingly as his heart rate increases again and they sit in awkward silence for a moment. Thankfully, a nurse arrives soon after, shooing the group out the door. He suffers through another set of vital checks and the nurse assures him he can leave that day, as soon as the doctor signs him out.  
  
Barely an hour later, Dean and Sam do indeed show up. Castiel thinks about how, if he were still in Miami and had been in an accident or gotten sick, he’s not sure he would have anywhere close to this many visitors. The people he knows there are more concerned about what they can get out of their connections and how it will help them get ahead in the business world. Castiel, of course, had been the same way, rarely considering that it was possible to have friends for their own sake.  
  
Sam has a huge grin on his face and rushes to his side. “I’m so glad you’re OK, man,” he gushes.  
  
He can’t help but agree, considering it was one of the worst experiences in his entire life, but he looks over at Dean and sees his closed-off expression. Sam follows his gaze around and sighs.  
  
“You can't fire Bobby,” Dean says, jumping right in.  
  
“I can, and I did,” Castiel says, summoning up what scant energy he has. “Ice Day? Just how stupid does everyone think I am?”  
  
“What? On a scale of one to ten?” Dean snarks. He takes a couple steps forward, as if getting ready for a confrontation.  
  
“Dean!” Sam chastises and throws an arm out, preventing Dean from moving to the side of the bed. Castiel just looks daggers at him.  
  
“Just so you know, the first day of ice fishing _is_ a state holiday.” They stare at each other for a long moment, and Dean continues. “Bobby... he takes a little while to warm up to folks, but he's a really good man.”  
  
“Good?” Castiel can’t help the way his voice betrays his shock. “Clearly, we define that differently.”  
  
“I'm just trying to help you out here, okay? Firing the foreman right before Thanksgiving… that's not gonna win you friends.”  
  
“Well, I'm here to do a job, not make friends,” Castiel informs him. “Bobby’s fired.”  
  
A flush of pink rises on Dean’s cheeks, but before he can continue to argue his case, a doctor comes into the room. She’s young, with long, curly blonde hair, and smiles widely at them all. Sam blushes, running a hand through his hair and waves at her awkwardly.  
  
“You’re not giving my patient any trouble, are you, Dean?” the doctor asks, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“No, Dr. Moore. We were just leaving,” he answers, and stomps out the door.  
  
Sam follows more slowly, and he and the doctor maintain eye contact until he’s out the door. The she turns back to Castiel and winks. “Your vitals seem stable, including your body temperature. I recommend taking it easy for a few days and above all, stay warm.”  
  
Castiel nods along, trying to keep his facial expression neutral.  
  
 “You ready to get out of here?” Dr. Moore finally asks, a teasing glint in her eye.  
  
“Oh my god, please,” he answers, not at all embarrassed at the desperation in his voice. The doctor just laughs and works on starting the process to discharge him.

 

* * *

  
  
The next Saturday, just about lunchtime, Sam calls Castiel at home to check up on him. At the moment, Castiel is warming up a small piece of lasagna. When he’d arrived home from the hospital three days ago, he’d discovered that his fridge and freezer were completely stocked with homemade food. It was accompanied by a note from Charlie that said “feel better soon” and drawings of what appear to be 1up mushrooms from Super Mario Brothers.  
  
After some small talk, Sam mentions that there’s a high school basketball game that day and he invites Castiel to come out and cheer on their local team. He hesitates - he doesn’t have much enthusiasm for sports, plus he’s supposed to take it easy - but Sam seems really excited to have him there.  
  
“Only if you feel up to it. But it would be a good chance for you to get out and about a little more,” Sam pushes.  
  
Finally Castiel agrees, smiling when he hears Sam’s excited response. “Great!” Sam says. “See you there! Oh yeah, don’t forget to bring something to sit on.”  
  
Pulling his lunch out of the microwave, he eats it quickly, wincing when he burns the top of his mouth slightly. He puts on his thick coat he acquired soon after he arrived, thankful he has an extra since his other coat still smells musty from being submerged in the lake. Hurriedly, he wraps the thick scarf Charlie had given him around his neck. The cold may not come as a shock anymore, but its still more than he can handle without copious layers. And last but not least, he gathers up his new blanket Charlie and her friends had made for him so he can use that to cushion the hard bleachers.  
  
When he arrives at the school, there are quite a few people gathered in the hallways, including a large number from the factory. He’s about to turn around and go home, maybe claim that he’s too tired, when Sam spots him from near the gymnasium doors. Since the tallest man in the entire crowd is waving at him, he can’t very well escape now. He continues forward, smiling at Sam’s enthusiasm despite his misgivings about being here.  
  
After clapping him on the shoulder, Sam leads him into the throng of people. They step up to a booth with a glittery sign proclaiming “Hot Chocolate & Coffee” - Castiel recognizes Charlie’s handiwork. Sure enough, Charlie is sitting at the table, alongside a clearly unenthusiastic Jo as well as another young brunette woman that Castiel doesn’t know.  
  
Charlie looks up when Sam approaches. “Hey guys!” She chirps. “Good to see you, Castiel.”  
  
“Hey ladies,” Sam greets them and Jo rolls her eyes. ”How’s it going here?”  
  
“We sold all the coffee cozies I knitted!” Charlie enthuses, a wide grin on her face. “Except this one, of course, but it’s my fave.”  
  
Looking closely at the cardboard coffee cup Charlie is holding, Castiel sees that it’s wrapped with a knitted band of garish green yarn. He supposes they are a good alternative to the disposable paper sleeves people usually use to wrap their coffee cups, but he’ll never understand the enthusiasm some people have for clashing colors and bold patterns. He much prefers subdued palettes for his own wardrobe.  
  
“Told you those were a good idea,” Sam says, pulling Charlie into a one-armed hug. She beams up at him. “Castiel, have you met Tracy?” he asks, gesturing to the other person at the table.  
  
“No,” Castiel answers, holding his hand out to her. “It’s nice to meet you.”  
  
She shakes his hand with a grin and then Sam announces, “Game’s about to start; anybody want to come sit in the bleachers with Cas and me?”  
  
Jo stands up so fast it startles a quiet gasp out of Castiel. Breathing carefully to slow down his racing heart, he forgets to be irritated that Sam called him Cas.  
  
“Let’s go Samsquatch," Jo says, pulling on Sam’s coat sleeve to get him moving.  
  
They settle in a few rows up and spread out the blanket to sit on. Castiel sheds his coat, looking around idly. He finds himself squinting at a familiar figure across the room.  
  
“Dean’s the assistant coach for the basketball and football team,” Sam explains, laughing. “He signed up when Ben started playing football last year, but Ben ended up hating it and switched to band. He’s so good with the kids… the principal somehow wrangled Dean into being a coach for both sports.” Sam points over at the end of the stands and Castiel catches sight of Dean’s son among the kids carrying tubas and trombones. The band is small; Ben is one of three flute players, and the only boy in that section.  
  
Both teams make their grand entrances into the gym and the game begins amid raucous cheers; Jo whistles so loud that Sam jumps, then grabs hold of one of her hands to keep her from doing it again. “Forgot she can do that,” Sam mutters irritably in Castiel’s direction.  
  
Castiel begins to zone out near the end of the first quarter and instead observes Dean as he moves among the players on the bench, patting them on the back and discussing the game. A few times, Dean waves up at Ben after the band plays a song to motivate the players.  
  
Sam catches Castiel staring at one point and elbows him gently, pulling his gaze away from Dean. A minute later, it’s Castiel’s turn to tease Sam when he gets flustered as a certain beautiful doctor walks by, smiling up at them.  
  
“Have you asked her out?” Castiel says as the teams file off the court for half time and the marching band gets into formation.  
  
“Nah,” Sam answers, ducking his head and letting his hair fall forward to shield his face. “She’s probably already dating someone.”  
  
“You never know unless you ask.”  
  
Any answer Sam may have given is drowned out as the band starts playing. Castiel is impressed by the skill exhibited by the band - it must be difficult with such a small school to have enough talented, committed students to make such a performance possible.  
  
The second half of the game kicks off and Castiel attempts to stay focused on the players. Charlie joins them, bringing cups of hot chocolate which are cheerfully accepted. She settles in close to Castiel’s side and at first he’s slightly discomfited by the familiarity with one of his employees, but in the end he decides he doesn’t mind it after all.  
  
At long last, the game is over and they stand to leave. Castiel can see Dr. Moore standing at the edge of a small group at the base of the stairs and points her out to Sam. He gives his companion a gentle push.  
  
“Go talk to her!” Castiel insists. Charlie and Jo both add, “GO!” when Sam hesitates and messes with his scarf.  
  
“Fine, fine,” Sam grumbles, holding his hands up in surrender and makes his way through the crowd and down the stairs. Her face lights up when she spots Sam and Castiel decides they’ll be just fine.  
  
After Castiel says goodbye to everyone, he heads out. Walking along the edge of the gym, he finds Dean leaning against the bleachers and Castiel comes to a stop a few feet away. He decides he better say something, since he really hadn’t had a chance to talk to him after the lake incident. Except, of course, when they had argued at the hospital and that doesn’t really count.  
  
“Oh, hey Castiel,” Dean greets him, his voice oddly flat.  
  
“Hello, Dean,” Castiel answers and shuffles from foot to foot, tucking his hands in his pockets. “The other day, when you pulled me from the ice... I may have said some things...” He stops himself from continuing to ramble and attempts to gather his thoughts.  
  
Dean’s attention shifts over Castiel’s shoulder and his entire demeanor changes; Castiel observes how the edges of his eye crinkle when he smiles. “Hey kid, come here,” Dean says, and Castiel turns around to find Ben standing right behind him. “Ben, you remember Castiel Morgan?”  
  
“Hello.” Castiel nods stiffly in the teenager’s direction.  
  
“What’s up,” Ben says, his defensive posture a perfect match of Dean’s.  
  
“I’m so proud of you,” Dean tells his son. “All that practice really paid off, huh?”  
  
Castiel nods along as Dean congratulates Ben, then adds, “It sounded great.”  
  
They stand in awkward silence for a few moments and Castiel realizes his chance to clear the air is gone. “I’ll see you around, OK?” He smiles thinly at Dean and turns on his heel, walking in a determined line to the parking lot.

 

* * *

  
  
Thanksgiving Day arrives with a huge snowstorm blanketing the town in a fresh foot of snow.  Castiel had always imagined this much snow would shut a city down, forcing people to stay in their homes to stay warm. Apparently Minnesotans hardly bat an eye at this kind of weather, however, considering how he sees plenty of people coming and going from his neighbor’s houses all day.  
  
Castiel eats Thanksgiving dinner alone, preparing a meal from the dishes still in his refrigerator after his accident. Charlie had invited him to her house for dinner, but he felt the need to spend some time alone and give himself a chance to work through his conflicting feelings about Dean.  
  
First and foremost, the man is undeniably attractive. Castiel had noticed it in passing, when the two of them were arguing and negotiating in his office. But when Dean had saved him from drowning, it was like everything good about the man became impossible to ignore. As Castiel had stood in the middle of the fishing shack, shaking like a leaf, he’d felt drawn to Dean. The way he calmly and capably responded to the situation before the paramedics arrived was nothing short of a miracle in Castiel’s eyes.  
  
If that weren’t enough, he has been forced to accept that Dean is not a jerk as Castiel had first assumed; in fact he’s a wonderful person and an amazing father. He sees it in the way Dean supports Ben no matter what he chooses to do. When he was growing up, Castiel knew of plenty of parents that insisted their sons be in sports, claiming music or art was for nerds (or just for girls).  
  
Maybe once upon a time, Castiel had thought about getting married and settling down, maybe having kids. He’d also thought he would play in a symphony or make a living creating art. Then, when Castiel was just barely 20 and halfway through with a music degree, his mother had died, and there was talk from Michael and his father about honoring his obligations. Castiel’s wishes and dreams had been pushed back, rearranging his priorities for the benefit of his family. He switched his degree to business at the beginning of his third year of college and his father left without a trace as Castiel began his 4th year. The pressure to support the family only grew from that point on and Castiel entered the company right after his graduation.    
  
He’d given up on his music, on his interests in art, and learned how to be a business professional by observing his brothers. Slowly, the focus of the company had moved from quality and sustainability to concern about the bottom line. The biggest change had come when Zachariah had come on board with his shrewd and brutal business tactics and the company had begun to use cheaper materials to save a few cents per garment. They started to care less about the people working for them and when a branch fell even slightly short, it was shut down without a thought for the workers making their livelihood.  
  
Despite everything, Castiel does miss his own family. This is the first Thanksgiving he’s ever spent away from home and his siblings. As unpleasant as they are on a good day, he wishes he had been able to fly back for the holiday. He’s glad he didn’t plan on it, of course, considering the storm that blew in yesterday, but still, it would have been nice. He calls Gabriel and Hannah and sends a holiday email to everyone else.  
  
He watches the kids from across the street having a snowball fight in the powdery snow and smiles, waving when their parents see him peeking through the curtains. They cheerfully wave back. He’s starting to understand the appeal of this town. It has helped him to step away from all his preconceived notions and begin to consider a life of his own making, one that will truly make him happy.  
  
Another positive development is his friendship with Sam Winchester. One evening not too long after the basketball game, Sam called him to tell him that he’d asked Jess out and she’d accepted, and he thanked Castiel for his advice. Castiel had laughed, thinking it was amusing that he might know anything about dating women; nevertheless he met up with Sam at the Roadhouse to chat and they ended up talking late into the night about relationships and work and what they both want for the future.  
  
After Thanksgiving break, the workers at the factory seem disgruntled that he fired Bobby. There are a few repeat incidents of the machinery mysteriously failing (he can’t wait until the new, more automated models arrive) and one evening, there is even a dead duck placed carefully on the hood of his SUV. He is slightly shaken by that incident, afraid it signals an intent to harm him, but Sam assures him there’s nothing to worry about.  
  
“They’re just messing with you, testing you to see if you’ll break,” Sam says, knocking the top of his beer bottle against Castiel’s. “Honestly, compared to some of the previous factory managers you’re a huge success.”  
  
Castiel finds that fact extremely worrying, but listens to Sam’s tale of the manager who was locked in the materials storage room at the factory for an entire weekend and was forced to scavenge through old boxes of expired candy bars stashed away. He watches his back closely for a few days, but when there are no additional incidents, he relaxes into the daily routine again, feeling like maybe everything is starting to come together.


	3. Falling is Like Brand New Rain

Flames leap in the stove, shifting from yellow to orange to blue as Castiel feeds it more wood. He warms his hands before it for a moment before pulling his blanket closer around his shoulders and standing. Picking up the book he’s been reading, he settles back into the armchair near the fire but can’t seem to focus on the words on the page. It’s Christmas Eve and the distance between him and his family is weighing heavily on his heart.  
  
The doorbell startles him from his thoughts and by the time he disentangles himself from his cocoon in the chair and makes his way to the door, there’s no one there. With a sigh, he begins to close the door, shivering from the cold, when he hears the singing.  
  
The song rises and falls, an unidentifiable chorus softly following the breeze. He looks up and down the road, finally spotting a group near the intersection. Occasionally a figure breaks from the group and scampers to the nearest house, presumably ringing the doorbell. Castiel hurriedly pulls on his warmest coat and scarf, his thick wool mittens and socks, and once his snow boots are laced up, he steps onto his porch, locking the door behind him.  
  
Lit with the glow of dozens of flickering candles, the troupe of singers stay in place, waiting for the last stragglers to catch up. By the time they move on, nearly everyone who lives on his street has joined them. A few of them nod or smile in his direction and he smiles back, following along as they wind their way towards the town square. The wavering light casts shadows on the ground that stretch until they’re absorbed into the sparkling snow.  
  
As he nears the center of town, he bumps into Charlie, who greets him with a smile and tucks her arm into his. She pulls him close, squeezing his arm gently, then holds out her candle to him. Voices are uplifted in song, beginning the familiar tune of "Silent Night" and as he takes the candle from Charlie, he begins to sing along.  
  
Flowing with the crowd, which grows larger as they near Main Street, they finally turn the last corner to face the square. Castiel feels his breath catch as he takes in the scene; it’s straight out of his childhood memories of Christmas. A huge tree sits in the middle of the square, covered in tiny twinkling lights of all colors and shapes. A large number of carolers are congregated in a ragged circle around the tree, all somehow singing the same song the rest of them began moments ago. He feels a tug beneath his heart - this is what Christmas is meant to be about.  
  
Since his mother died and his dad left, his family hasn’t celebrated Christmas in any recognizable way. Sure, there were fancy dinners and the exchange of gifts, but it was all overlain with a hefty dose of guilt towards the brother who dared to leave the family business (Gabriel) and the one who hadn’t gotten married and settled down yet (Castiel himself). Everyone was just going through the motions of holiday cheer, and it left Castiel feeling cold each and every time.  
  
Now, in the midst of the coldest winter he’s ever had the misfortune to experience, he feels warmed from the inside out, as though grace is radiating from his heart and spreading through his body. He comes to a stop before the tree and the crowd goes silent for a moment, the gentle rush of the breeze through the trees surrounding him. He closes his eyes, tears stinging under his eyelids, and Charlie leans her head against his shoulder. By some cue, the entire group begins to sing "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" and he chokes back a quavering laugh; this song has always been his favorite.  
  
Looking around the square as light snow begins to fall, his eyes meet a familiar pair across the way. Dean is standing with his arm tight around Ben and he smiles, a bright, sincere smile that sends sparks up Castiel’s spine. Dean lifts his candle to him, and he returns the gesture. It’s with a happy heart that he joins in singing "Away in a Manger" and "Joy to the World".  
  
After the last note fades, the crowd stands in silence, holding their candles aloft. The bell in the tower on City Hall begins to toll, striking the hour of 10 pm and when it’s done, Castiel can hear a few people around him mutter “Amen” and the group begins to dissipate. Charlie drags him towards the steps of City Hall, where a small pavilion has been erected, under which there is a table with cookies and a drink dispenser with hot chocolate. Jo and Tracy stand behind the table and they both greet Castiel with friendly waves. Tracy hands him a hot chocolate which he sips carefully, and she and Charlie start chattering about their favorite television show. Jo rolls her eyes and Castiel smiles knowingly - he’s about to attempt to start up a conversation with her when he’s jostled from behind.  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Sam’s voice booms from over his shoulder, then he turns and realizes who he bumped into. “Cas, man, it’s good to see you!” The blonde doctor, Jessica Moore, stands beside him bundled up in a fur-lined coat and one of Charlie’s knitted scarves.  
  
“Hello, Sam. Jessica. How are you this evening?” Castiel reaches a hand out to shake Sam’s hand, but Sam ignores it as he pulls him into a hug. His breath gets squeezed out of him with a whoosh and he hears Jessica laugh.  
  
“Please, call me Jess,” she insists.  
  
Castiel nods, startling when Sam slaps his hand to his forehead.  
  
“Damn, I’m sorry. Dean told me you don’t like to be called Cas - or any other nickname - I keep forgetting,” Sam says sheepishly.  
  
He realizes he hadn’t even noticed when Sam referred to him as Cas - now that he knows these people better, he finds himself relaxing and feeling comfortable in a way he never has before. His life has always been so focused on keeping up with his brothers and holding up his end of the expectations laid on him since he came of age, but now, things are different. He feels no guilt whatsoever about spending an evening standing in the cold, singing hymns and conversing with friends. The nickname begins to fit the way he thinks of himself - and there’s no issue of needing to be respected. He knows that Sam, Dean and Charlie, and everyone else, see him for who he truly is.  
  
That thought is so completely surprising that he is shocked speechless for a moment and he sees Sam’s face fall, looking like a scolded puppy, obviously afraid he’s grievously offended Castiel.  
  
“You know what,” Cas says, “I think the nickname is starting to grow on me.”  
  
Sam instantly perks up. “Yeah? Great.” He slaps Cas on the back, making him rock forward a step, and he looks around to see happy, amused smiles all around.  
  
“All right, everyone. That’s enough of this kid stuff,” Charlie announces, tossing her empty cup into the trash bin. “Let’s go to my house and get some eggnog.”  
  
Laughter erupts from the group and he’s pulled willingly along and even joins in when they start singing "Good King Wenceslas".

 

* * *

  
  
Christmas break passes much too quickly in a blur of dinners shared at Charlie and Dorothy’s house, as well as a few movie nights and long, philosophical discussions with Sam and Ash. Dean is around, flitting around the edges of Cas’ awareness, but never coming close enough to really participate. Sam confides in him one night, after a few eggnogs, that Dean has a hard time with holidays; he misses his late wife who passed years ago. Lisa was a big fan of all the various holidays and delighted in decorating every available surface. Cas can certainly understand having painful memories of one’s family and just smiles kindly whenever he sees Dean sitting apart from the group.  
  
Cas returns to the factory to occasional grumbles and mentions that things would go smoothly if Bobby hadn’t been fired, but for the most part, he finds that everyone seems to have accepted his presence.  
  
Just after the New Year, Dean schedules a meeting to begin a new round of union negotiations. Charlie knocks on the doorframe that afternoon announcing, “Dean is here for your meeting.” She has a conspiratorial look on her face and Cas merely quirks one corner of his mouth up. It would do no good to chastise her, in fact it would only spur on her attempts to convince him how wonderful Dean is - as if he needed more proof.  
  
Dean peeks out from behind Charlie and then enters his office. “Hi,” he says, looking a bit shy.  
  
“Hi,” Cas answers breathlessly. It’s only been a few days since he last saw the man, but the sight of him feels like a breath of fresh air to his drowning lungs.  
  
“Well, isn't this a nice way to start out the New Year?” Charlie teases from across the room. “‘Auld Lang Syne,’ resolutions and all that. If I can get you two anything, just say the word.”  
  
Cas levels a mock-glare in her direction and she grins, pulling the door shut.  
  
“I’ve got the comp analysis here,” Dean begins.  
  
“Before we get started,” Castiel interrupts, and watches Dean focus on his face for the first time, looking into Cas’ eyes. “I never really got a chance to say.... to thank you, after you rescued me from the ice.” Every time they’d been in each other’s presence for the last few months, it had been as part of a group and during the holidays Cas hadn’t wanted to bother Dean. “I said a lot of stupid things and I’d like to apologize for that.”  
  
“Hey, man, anything you said was under the influence of hypothermia and I can’t hold you responsible for that.” The way Dean grins at him causes butterflies spring to life in Castiel’s stomach. “Next time, though, just stick to the tire tracks and avoid the thin ice, ok?”  
  
“I highly doubt I will be walking on the lake ever again, but I’ll keep that in mind. Nevertheless, I don’t remember saying thank you and that’s hardly sufficient for saving my life.” He takes a deep breath. “So thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
There’s a few moments of silence, when they merely stare at one another, and then Dean snaps out of it, saying “So. Comp analysis.”  
  
“Right, comp analysis. Shall we start with upper management?” Castiel focuses on the task at hand and the meeting goes much smoother than any of their previous ones.

 

* * *

  
  
Excitement about the NFL playoffs reaches a fever pitch by the middle of January and Charlie informs him the Vikings are facing the Packers that upcoming Sunday and invites Castiel to her house for the party. He’d reluctantly accepted her invitation, reflecting on the fact that he had nothing better to do on a freezing Sunday afternoon.  
  
He is well aware of the intense rivalries that exist between the local Vikings fans and the transplanted Packers fans (including Dean and Jo). Castiel himself has never backed a team, given that he couldn't care less about football, but he'd regularly found himself among those cheering for the Dolphins, since his brothers are such intense fans.  
  
Arriving just before the kickoff, Charlie opens the door and pulls him into a tight hug. “Hey there, Cas. How are you this fine day?”  
  
He raises an eyebrow, looking back over his shoulder at the four foot tall drifts obscuring the road and most of the houses across the street. “I’m fine, thank you,” he answers.  
  
“Awesome. Come on in!”  
  
She leads the way into the house, and he is shocked to see that it is completely decked out in purple and yellow (including more than a few large knitted blankets and wall hangings). Ash and Sam are standing at the end of the front hall, arguing about some sort of historical tactics used by the Vikings and Castiel narrowly avoids the bobbly hat Ash attempts to place on his head. Sneaking into the living room, he finds Dean and Jo sitting on the sagging couch wearing green and yellow jerseys.  
  
The sounds of cheers and lively chatter comes from the kitchen - Castiel figures the Vikings fans must be conversing over the nachos and punch.  
  
"Hey, Cas," Dean grumbles.  
  
"Hello Dean," he answers. "Hello Jo." She nods in acknowledgement, eyes trained on the television screen, listening to the commentators deliberate the likelihood that Green Bay will win.  
  
Looking over at the extra chairs gathered at the back of the room, Cas sees Dean's son Ben sitting there, body curled over his phone. "Hello Ben," Cas greets him, earning only a grunt of acknowledgement.  
  
“Aren’t you going to say hi to Castiel, Ben?” Dean says wearily, slouching against the back of the couch.  
  
“Hey,” the teenager says, looking up for a moment, then back down. He stands and walks out of the room, muttering about getting something to eat.  
  
“Is something the matter?” Cas asks before he realizes that the question might not be welcome. Sitting in the armchair angled towards the television, he perches on the edge and faces Dean.  
  
“He’s pissed at me,” Dean answers, running a hand over his face and apparently not concerned that Castiel is prying. “Someone from the state music program heard Ben playing the violin at school the other day and was so impressed that she insisted he audition for the program."  
  
"That's wonderful," Castiel says sincerely. At first he doesn’t know where the trouble could possibly lie, but then something occurs to him: “Doesn’t Ben play the flute?"  
  
"He does, and a whole bunch of other instruments too. My kid is a music prodigy, apparently." Dean sighs, running a hand through his hair. "The problem is, he needs to pick a song to play for his audition in two weeks, not to mention the fact he doesn't actually own a violin to use. I have no clue how to even start with this process. I told him I'd think about it and now he thinks I’m not being supportive of his interest in music. I thought he'd play football; that's something I understand."  
  
“I played the cello, once upon a time,” Castiel reveals. He doesn’t mention the fact that he planned to get a BA in Sacred Music from the University of Florida before his mother died and his father left and he was pressured into working with his brothers. He’d even had an invitation to play for the Miami Symphony Orchestra. But that’s all in the past and now, in the present, he can offer Dean some assistance using his knowledge of the music world. “I might be able to help you find some music that’s appropriate for him, if you’d like?”  
  
“Really?” Relief has the tension draining from Dean’s shoulders and he looks at Cas like he is offering the answer to life, the universe and everything. “You’d do that?”  
  
“Of course,” Castiel says, beginning to make a list of possibilities in his head. “I doubt there is anywhere here in town where we can find what we need. We’ll have to go somewhere that has good music shops.”    
  
“Is Minneapolis the best bet, do you think?” Dean answers, beginning to look a lot more optimistic.  
  
“Yes, I imagine so. Would you like me to take Ben one day this week after school?”  
  
“Um, maybe I could come with?” Dean says hesitantly. “That way I could learn about this stuff and not come across like a total jackass.”  
  
“Unlikely,” Ben snarks as he returns with a plate piled high with nachos, standing in the space between the couch and the armchair.  
  
“Hey, have some respect for your elders, yeah? Cas offered to help us figure out everything for your audition,” Dean says with a smile.  
  
The teenager’s demeanor completely changes and he looks over at Castiel hopefully. Again Castiel is struck by the likeness between Dean and his son, and it warms his heart.  
  
“Thanks, Mr. Morgan. I mean, uh, Castiel...” He trails off, averting his eyes off to one side.  
  
Surprising himself by laughing out loud, Castiel puts a hand on Ben’s shoulder and tells him with a big smile, “Call me Cas. Everyone else around here does.”  
  
Jo sits up straight, turning the television up. “Game’s about to start!” she calls, and the group form the kitchen migrates to the living room.  
  
"Why are you rooting for Green Bay?" Cas thinks to ask Dean. "Are you from Wisconsin?"  
  
"Kansas, actually, but my mom's family is from Wisconsin.”  
  
“Ah.” Any more conversation is put on hold while the teams on the screen battle it out. In the end, the Packers win by a touchdown in overtime. Dean and Jo gloat, doing ridiculous touchdown dances in the middle of the living room. Castiel laughs heartily with the rest of the group.  
  
“Well, maybe next year,” Charlie says reassuringly to the dejected Vikings fans as they head home. Castiel may not know a lot about football, but he knows that its been a long time since the Vikings have gotten very far in the playoffs. He nods along, hugging Charlie and fist-bumping Dorothy before he leaves.

 

* * *

  
  
Wednesday afternoon, Cas takes off work a few hours early and Dean picks him up at his house. The large truck’s rumbling engine clues him into the fact that Dean has arrived before the man comes up to the door. Cas had insisted that he could drive them to Minneapolis, but Dean pointed out that the storm that was due to blow in might just knock Cas’ little SUV off the road and it was safer in Dean’s truck. Rather than argue about something silly, Cas had agreed and Dean seemed ridiculously happy about that fact.  
  
He squeezes onto the bench seat between Ben and the door, remembering the time Sam had taken him home after a long evening of drinking. Ben smiles up at him, clearly excited for their trip.  
  
“Have you been thinking about songs you’d like to play?” Castiel asks Dean’s son as they pull onto the freeway outside of New Ulm.  
  
Ben’s eyes light up and he launches into an obviously well-thought out list of songs by Beethoven and Mozart among others. Dean is smiling, glad to see his son so enthusiastic, but Cas knows Dean is lost with all the information Ben is throwing out.  
  
“Cas, I’m gonna need you to do most of the talking at the store, I think,” Dean says during a lull in Ben’s monologue. “I have no idea where to start.”  
  
“It’s no problem, Dean. That’s why I’m here, after all.”  
  
Dean shoots him a grateful look and Cas ignores the way his breath catches.  
  
The two-hour drive flies by with companionable conversation about music and sports and oddly enough, a bit of politics from Ben. Castiel is impressed yet again by his intelligence and ability to express himself; Dean and all the other people in Ben’s life have done a wonderful job raising him.  
  
Cas had done quite a bit of research beforehand, finding the best store in the city. He directs Dean to Givens Violins and as soon as they pull up, Ben’s eyes are wide with anticipation. The bell on the door jingles overhead as Ben rushes in, bouncing from display to display, full of beautiful (expensive) violins and violas. Castiel’s fingers itch to run along the neck of a particularly lovely cello, but he reins himself in and focuses on Ben.  
  
The proprietor - her nametag reads Bela - approaches them with a smile. Looking at Ben where he’s paging through sheet music, she asks, “Are you two interested in buying an instrument for your son?”  
  
Dean’s face flushes pink at the suggestion that he and Cas are together, so Cas steps in and says smoothly, “My friend’s son has been invited to audition for the MMEA All-State program and so we will need appropriate music as well as a violin rental for a month. I believe, if he does get into the group, they may consider purchasing an instrument?” He looks to Dean, who has sufficiently recovered from his embarrassment.  
  
“Yeah, maybe,” he answers. He flips over the price tag on the nearest violin and blanches, stepping back with his hands behind his back. He is clearly unprepared for the price attached to quality instruments.  
  
The shop owner nods and moves over to stand next to Ben. “Would you like to play something, so we can see the level of music to select and what instrument would suit you best?”  
  
“Yes, very much,” Ben answers, beaming.  
  
Bela picks out a mid-range violin and hands it gently to Ben, who looks happy enough he could burst. He stills for a moment to think of a song to play, and begins on Pachelbel’s Canon. All three adults in the room are caught off guard as the teen starts to play. Castiel looks over at Dean, who has an expression of complete shock. He realizes this is the first time Dean has heard his son play the violin - and Castiel knows now why the scout from the program insisted that Ben try out.  
  
_He’s amazing._  
  
Bela pointedly moves from where she was standing, paging through the beginner level music, to stand in front of the intermediate level sheet music.  
  
Once Ben is finished, they break out in an enthusiastic round of applause and Ben blushes, sketching a small bow. Bela has a small selection of possibilities she hands to Ben and she beckons Dean over to talk about rental options. Cas moves to Ben’s side, watching as he flips between the pages.  
  
“This is a wonderful piece,” Cas says, indicating Bach’s Sonata 1 in G minor. “One of my favorites to play on the cello.”  
  
“Why don’t you play anymore?” Ben asks innocently as he looks closely at the song and doesn’t see Castiel tense up next to him.  
  
“Um, well...” He sincerely tries to give an acceptable answer, to somehow put into words that painful period after his mother died and his father left and everything in his life had been turned upside down.  
  
Ben looks up, sensing his hesitation and sees the expression on this face. “Mr. Mor- Cas, I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me.”  
  
Smiling softly down at most considerate young person he’s ever met, Castiel says, “After my mother died, a lot of things changed.”  
  
Ben nods knowingly, seeming wise beyond his years. Ben wasn’t old enough when she died to remember his mother, but growing up with a single father makes him empathetic to Cas’ emotions. “I think I’ll play this one, then.”  
  
“I can’t wait to hear you play it,” Cas says honestly.  
  
Dean finishes up where he’s talking to Bela - she had given him the highest quality rental violin they offered for the base rental price - and hands the case to Ben. He passes the music up to the shopkeeper and she sighs happily. “I would say good luck with your audition, young man, but honestly you don’t need it. I expect you’ll be first-chair violin before too long.”  
  
While they pay for their things, Castiel promises to explain what “first-chair” means to Dean on the way home. As they leave, Dean tells Bela, “Thank you for all your help. We’ll come back when he needs to buy a violin.”  
  
“You’re very welcome. It’s not often I see such talent in someone so young.”  
  
The ride back is quiet after Ben falls asleep, leaning so his head falls on Cas’ shoulder. Dean just looks at them as if he can’t believe how lucky he’s gotten, and Cas feels exactly the same.

 

* * *

  
  
Unfortunately, Ben’s music teacher at school doesn’t approve of the music they had picked out, claiming that it would be too hard for Ben to learn in the time they had left. Castiel wonders if the teacher simply isn’t confident in her ability to teach the music, since Cas is completely sure Ben will be able to learn it by the deadline. So after debating with himself if it was worth cracking open that side of him again, Castiel offers to coach Ben. Since he has a piano at his house, he finally gets it tuned and volunteers his living room for violin lessons. He finds himself wishing he’d brought his cello, even though he had no way of knowing he would have the urge to play all these years later, but the piano works just as well in this case.  
  
They start with some basic skills, running scales and improving Ben’s bow hold. Castiel feels the familiar rush of happiness he always got while playing music, the way it feels like time stops and yet rushes by all at once. Being a teacher was something he never really considered - it had been a vague backup plan in case playing for the Symphony didn’t pan out - and he discovers he enjoys it immensely, especially with a student who is so diligent about practicing.  
  
Ben and Castiel also have increasingly frank conversations, beginning on a day when a fellow student had teased him about playing the flute. The teenager gets started telling a story about camping trips with his dad and Uncle Sam, and ends up laughing when Castiel reveals he’s never been camping in his life. In fact, his only up close experience with nature was summer church camp after the 8th grade.  
  
After practicing the music every day for two weeks, Ban has made so much progress that Cas is nothing but optimistic. They wrap up their last practice session before the audition and Castiel tells him how proud of him he is and how much he’s enjoyed playing music with Ben.  
  
Pulling him into a hug, Ben says, “Thank you.”  
  
Surprised at the sudden show of affection, it takes a moment for Cas to recover and he pats the teen on the back. “You’re welcome.”  
  
As he’s getting ready to leave, Ben hesitates, fidgeting with his violin case strap.  
  
“Do you need anything else?” Castiel asks.  
  
“You like my dad, right?” Ben asks bluntly, refusing to look up and meet Cas’ eyes.  
  
Castiel clears his throat nervously. “Yes, I do. I respect him a great deal.”  
  
“But is that it?”  
  
“Um,” Cas can’t quite control his spiraling thoughts enough to figure out a coherent answer. He wants to say, “he’s the most handsome, caring, amazing man I’ve ever met,” but he thinks that may be a bit too much to be telling Dean’s son.  
  
“Well, if you do like him, I wanted you to know that it’s OK with me. If maybe that was something that was holding you back,” Ben says, finally raising his head. Cas can see the determination in the boy’s eyes. “He’s never really dated anyone while I was growing up. He’s always said that he doesn’t mind it just being the two of us, but I know he can get lonely. And he really likes you.”  
  
“Oh.” Castiel is usually more eloquent than this, he thinks. “I will take that under consideration.” _Really, Cas?_ he berates himself. _Way to sound like a complete idiot._  
  
Choosing that moment to ring the doorbell, Dean breaks the awkwardness that has sprung up between them.  
  
“Hey, dad,” Ben greets him when he bustles in the door. “Oh, I was going to tell you, you don’t need to take me to the audition tomorrow.”  
  
“What are you talking about? Of course I’m taking you,” Dean says.  
  
“Dad,” Ben whines. “You won’t actually be able to be in the room with me, anyway.”  
  
Standing off to one side, Castiel’s head whips back and forth between each of them as Dean and Ben argue. This is a new side of Dean he’s never seen - the stern, serious parent.  
  
“So what,” Dean counters. “I want to be there when you find out you made it.”  
  
With a huff, Ben answers, “We won’t know for another week! Come on.”  
  
“Benjamin Winchester, tell me the real reason you don’t want me to go.”  
  
“Fine. There’s a girl…” Ben starts.  
  
Dean laughs and says, “Ah. Well why didn’t you say so. All right, we’ll let you go with your girlfriend.“  
  
“She’s not my girlfriend!” Ben protests and stomps out to the car.  
  
Dean looks over at Cas and winks, thanking him silently for working so hard with Ben. Cas feels a blush rising on his cheeks and he smiles back, valiantly trying to ignore the fact that Dean said “we” and watches them drive away.

 

* * *

  
  
The headlights from Mrs. Lucas’ minivan shine into Dean’s house as she pulls out of the driveway, then the living room is lit only by the soft light from the lamp on the side table. Castiel waits patiently as Dean paces around the room for a few minutes, rubbing the back of his neck and messing up his hair. When he finally settles on the couch next to Castiel, he offers Dean an encouraging smile.  
  
“He’s going to do wonderfully,” Castiel promises.  
  
“Totally, yeah,” Dean says automatically, then focuses on Cas’ face. “Thanks again for all your help.”  
  
“Of course, anytime.”  
  
“Hey, you want to get some pizza or something?” Dean asks.  
  
Cas can’t help the way he twists his mouth in disagreement and Dean catches it. After a moment, he asks, “Can I ask you a personal question?”  
  
Feeling his heart rate start to pick up, Castiel nods.  
  
“Why are you always so careful about what you eat?”  
  
Opening his mouth, then closing it again, Castiel hunches inward a little and covers his midsection. _Dean’s noticed my problem, how many others have? How many people has Dean told?_  
  
“Hey, don’t worry. It’s not something a lot of people would notice,” Dean assures him, his voice sincere. “Although Charlie has mentioned to me that you never seem to eat lunch.”  
  
“I just… I’m used to being able to go on runs more regularly and haven’t had time to check out the gym in town,” Cas attempts to explain.  
  
“Don’t bother, that gym is crappy,” Dean says. “But really. I understand, a little. For me, it was always about how food was something I could control when everything else was kind of in chaos.”  
  
Taking a moment to absorb that information, Castiel then answers more honestly, “My brother Michael has certain expectations of me.”  
  
Dean does a double take. “Your brother tells you you're fat?” he demands.  
  
“No, not in so many words,” Castiel hedges, pulling on the bottom of his sweater.  
  
Shaking his head emphatically, Dean insists, “You're not fat, Cas, far from it. Even if you were, you need to take care of yourself. You gotta eat.”  
  
Castiel takes a deep breath and nods, smiling softly when Dean grasps his shoulder.  
  
“Listen, don't ever tell Sammy I said this,” Dean says conspiratorially, “but we can get a veggie pizza if you want.”  
  
“With artichoke hearts?” Castiel teases.  
  
“You're killin' me man,” Dean groans. But he orders a veggie pizza with artichoke hearts and Cas enjoys every bite.  
  
Once they’re full, they sit on the couch and watch sports highlights on TV.  
  
“Helping an uncultured idiot like me probably wasn’t what you expected to be doing while you were here, I imagine,” Dean says, laughing at himself.  
  
“I don’t mind at all. But to be honest, nothing about Minnesota has been what I expected. But I’ve been pleasantly surprised, nonetheless.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Absolutely. The people here are kind and loyal. Where I’m from, the people I know are nothing like that. My coworkers, including my brothers, only think about how to get ahead, how to make as much profit as possible. No one in Miami would have ever cooked me casseroles when I was in the hospital or knitted me a huge blanket. I’ve never had friends as sincere as Charlie, Jo and Sam. And you.”  
  
“Thanks Cas, that means a lot. I’m sorry we gave you so much shit when you first got here.”  
  
“I’m starting to understand why people reacted the way they did. When my parents were part of the company, they were very focused on being a conscientious business, both to their employees and their customers. Once my brothers took over, that went out the window and I’m afraid I absorbed some of their views, those about employees especially. I looked down on them, and yet, the people here have treated me as a friend. I can’t say how much that means to me. I had it drilled into my head that I needed to be professional and represent the company a certain way, and you all have opened my eyes. Life isn’t that black and white.”  
  
“Wow, your brothers really are dicks,” Dean says.  
  
“They are,” Cas says, laughing. “I wish there was a way to bring back the philosophy my parents had. It’s important to value the people who make the company successful.”  
  
“I think if anyone can figure out a way, it’s you,” Dean offers in a quiet voice.  
  
“Thank you, Dean.” Cas swallows around a lump in his throat. He decides to turn the conversation around to Dean and his past. “How about you? How did you come to live in New Ulm?”  
  
“Well, Ben...” Dean begins and then stops, taking a deep breath.  
  
Castiel tilts his head in question and bumps his leg gently against Dean’s. Dean curls his lips into a sort of half smile and takes another breath.  
  
“Ben isn’t actually mine,” he continues and that is so far from what Castiel expected that his jaw drops. Before he can utter a confused, “what?”, Dean explains: “I mean, legally he is, I’ve adopted him. But his mom and I, we started dating when Ben was a couple months old. I lived in Lawrence, Kansas, and I was working at a garage across the street from Lisa’s yoga studio... anyway, when Ben was about 3, Lisa got ovarian cancer. She had been feeling sick for awhile, really tired and rundown and at first we didn’t really worry about it. She thought she might be pregnant again, actually. But then she had it checked out and she got worse, and...”  
  
Dean trails off and Castiel can’t help laying a gentle hand on Dean’s knee. Dean looks across the room with a faraway expression for a moment, sniffing once and then comes back into the present. “And then I was taking care of a three-year-old and had no idea what I was doing.”  
  
His heart feels like it’s breaking in two and Castiel assures Dean he doesn’t need to continue, but Dean insists he’s fine, patting Castiel’s hand where it still rests on Dean’s knee. “I helped take care of Sammy after my mom died when I was really young, but I figured raising a toddler all on my own was a whole different ball game. My dad was good friends with Bobby and Ellen, and we came here a lot when we were kids. I felt like, if anyone could help me figure out how to raise a kid, it would be those two, so I uprooted everything and moved out here. And I can’t thank them enough for what they did for me over the years. I probably wouldn't have been able to keep Ben otherwise.”  
  
A few minutes pass in silence as Castiel absorbs this startling revelation. Being committed to keeping a child that is not biologically his own is absolutely something he can see Dean doing and it must have taken a lot of hard work. Dean idly traces an unseen pattern on the back of the couch, until finally Castiel feels compelled to speak again.  
  
“You’ve done a wonderful job raising Ben, Dean. He’s smart, kind and very talented.”    
  
Raising his head at last, Dean meets Castiel’s eyes. “Thanks, Cas, that means a lot.”  
  
A wild, reckless urge comes over Castiel in that moment and more than anything in the world, Castiel wants to kiss Dean. So he does. He leans in, pressing his lips to Dean’s, and at first the other man doesn’t respond. Castiel retreats slightly, an apology already forming on the tip of his tongue, when Dean threads his fingers into the hair at the back of Castiel’s neck and pulls him in again. This time Dean kisses him enthusiastically and he gets lost in the slide of their lips, the touch of their tongues.  
  
After an indefinite stretch of time, Castiel can feel Dean smile against his lips and they laugh quietly together.  
  
“I’ve, um,” Dean stutters. “I’ve been wanting to do that for awhile. Didn’t know if you felt the same.”  
  
It took him awhile to realize it, Castiel thinks, but he definitely returns Dean’s feelings. “I do,” he assures Dean.  
  
“Good.” The smile on Dean’s face is nothing short of ecstatic and Castiel can’t believe he’s the one who put it there.  
  
They end up stretched out side-by-side on the couch, laughing when Cas almost falls off and Dean has to catch him. Rolling them so Cas is on top, they make out, moaning into each other's mouths and grinding together.  
  
Castiel manages to slide a hand between them, running his palm over Dean's soft stomach and under the waistband of his jeans. Dean bucks his hips in encouragement and Cas gently squeezes and strokes Dean's cock through his boxers. He moves his lips across Dean's cheek, nipping and licking at his ear.  
  
A bright light flashes through the window and  then there’s a key scraping in the lock of the front door. They spring apart, sitting awkwardly on the couch. Dean darts his hand out and grabs the remote, turning up the TV.  
  
Ben comes around the corner with a grin on his face which drops a bit in surprise when he sees them sitting on the couch. “Cas, why are you still here?”  
  
“Just giving your father some moral support,” Castiel reassures him. He hears Dean snicker quietly at his side but manages to keep a straight face.  
  
“How did it go, kiddo?” Dean asks, standing up. His back pops as he stretches and Cas has to focus his eyes on Ben to avoid staring at Dean’s ass as he walks away.  
  
Ben sets his violin case down carefully near the door and starts to walk toward the stairs, saying “Fine,” over his shoulder.  
  
“Hey, wait.” Dean sighs, standing with his hands on his hips in the middle of the room. “Do you feel good about how the audition went?”  
  
“Yeah, I didn’t make any mistakes. Thanks for helping me, Cas,” Ben says.  
  
“You’re very welcome. I’m glad it went well.” Castiel answers.  
  
“And...” Dean prompts. “How did it go with Violet?”  
  
Ben rolls his eyes, the very picture of a sullen teenager. “Goodnight, Dad. ‘Night, Cas.” With that he heads up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door shut.  
  
Laughing softly, Dean turns back around to face Cas. “Damn teenagers,” he says fondly.  
  
“Indeed,” Cas replies. “I’ll head home. Talk to you soon?” He heads to the front door and starts to bundle up.  
  
“Thanks again, man. I couldn’t have done it without you.” Dean leans in and gives him a kiss on the lips, which makes Cas feel warm all over.

 

* * *

  
  
Castiel puts away the clean dishes that have been sitting on the counter for days and haphazardly fills the dishwasher, not bothering to turn it on when he’s done. Once upon a time he would have been fastidious about keeping the kitchen clean, but lately he’s been busy enough and has so many other things to think about that he doesn’t feel the need to keep everything so tidy. He never thought that would happen, but he doesn’t dwell on it too much.  
  
His doorbell rings and he wipes his hands on a towel, tossing it onto the counter. He passes stacks of books on the coffee table and a few tea mugs abandoned on side tables. Promising himself that he’ll clean later, because there’s clutter and then there’s just plain messy, he opens the door. Standing on his porch is Dean Winchester, hands in his jeans pockets and grinning like a madman.  
  
“Ben got in!” Dean cries, stepping forward and pulling Castiel into a hug. “All thanks to you, man.”  
  
With a smile blooming on his own face, Castiel shakes his head. “It was all Ben, Dean. He is very talented and he will do well in this group.”  
  
“Come on, Cas. You helped,” Dean insists. “And to celebrate, we’re all going to Ellen’s. We want you to come too.”  
  
Castiel can’t help his surprise at being included. He’s slowly accepting that the people here do like him, for some reason, and he even calls a few of them friends. Dean must see the way his eyes widen and mistakes it for doubt.  
  
“You don’t have to come, but I thought -”  
  
“No, I would love to. Let me get my coat,” Cas assures him, letting Dean step inside the house.  
  
“Awesome,” Dean replies, looking around the living room. Castiel has a moment of embarrassment at the state of his house, but brushes it off when Dean homes in on the books on his coffee table, picking up a well-worn copy of On the Road. He flips through it as Cas zips up his coat and wraps a scarf around his neck.  
  
As he pulls on a pair of gloves and grabs his keys, Dean looks up and laughs. “Are those some of Charlie’s creations?” He asks, indicating the gloves, which are a hideous combination of purple and green.  
  
Castiel nods, laughing as well. He can’t seem to resist putting a smile on Charlie’s face and if wearing ugly scarves and gloves is a way to do it, he’s happy with that.  
  
They hurry off the porch and down the sidewalk, jumping inside Dean’s truck as he blasts the heat. “Shoulda just left it on,” he mutters, but it doesn’t take long for it to warm up again.  
  
As he shifts the truck into drive, Dean says, “Damn, I hate this thing.”  
  
Surprised, Cas looks over at him. “This isn’t your truck?”  
  
“Nah, it is. It’s good to have a heavy duty truck with a plow and shit. Anything’s better than that pathetic excuse for a vehicle you have in your driveway.”  
  
“Hey!” Castiel says, suddenly feeling protective of his little RAV4. “What would you rather drive, then?”  
  
“I’ve got a ‘67 Chevy Impala sitting in the garage. Around here, I can only take her out a couple months a year. Just wait until summer, and you can see her.”  
  
“I’m not sure that I’ll be here-” Castiel cuts himself off, and feels a strange sense of regret that he may very well be back in Miami by spring.  
  
“Oh right, ‘course,” Dean replies, and silence falls in the cab of the truck.  
  
They don’t speak during the short drive; when they pull up in front of the Roadhouse, Castiel says quietly, “Maybe I can come see the Impala while she’s in the garage.”  
  
Dean looks at him, startled, his thoughts obviously elsewhere. “Oh, yeah, maybe.” He forces a smile and gets out of the truck. With a sigh, Castiel follows and steps through the door that Dean holds open for him. He is met with warmth and a few cheers from the direction of the bar. He feels his cheeks heat up and laughs self-consciously.  
  
Grabbing one of the beers that Ellen has lined up on the bar, Dean heads toward the table where Ben sits along with Mrs. Lucas and a teenaged girl who he assumes is Ben’s crush Violet Lucas. Castiel leans against the bar, watching Dean interact with his son and sips his own beer. Sam nudges him after a moment and asks “Hey, you OK?”  
  
“Hmm? Oh yes, I’m fine,” he says. Indicating in the direction of Ben and his friend, he says “Did Violet get into the group as well?”  
  
“Yep! Apparently they both impressed the judges, since they’re so young. Once they heard that the violin isn’t Ben’s first instrument, though, they want to have him play some other instruments for them. He could be on the fast track for a scholarship for Oberlin Conservatory of Music in Ohio or even Juilliard.”  
  
Castiel gasps, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth. “Wow,” he mutters.  
  
Sam laughs, patting him on the back. “That’s what I said.”  
  
Looking across the room once more, he catches Dean’s eye and smiles.  
  
“Have you guys gotten things figured out?” Sam asks with a soft expression on his face.  
  
“I think so,” Castiel answers, feeling warmth bloom in his chest that isn’t due to the beer he’s drinking.  
  
“I’m happy for you guys,” Sam says.  
  
“I’m happy too,” Cas says, and means it.  
  
They congratulate the kids and have some burgers, then once the kids are sent home for the night, the party really starts.  
  
“Dude, there’s someone I want you to meet,” Dean whispers in his ear sometime later. He points to a very large man with a beard and a cap who walks over and holds out his hand.  
  
“I’m Benny,” he says, with a hint of a southern accent. Cajun, Cas thinks.  
  
“Nice to meet you,” Cas replies, somewhat slurred and Benny just smiles.  
  
Dean leans against the bar next to Castiel and explains, “Benny has a sheep farm a couple miles out of town. He’s where Dorothy gets her wool to spin. And where Charlie gets some of the rather… extreme colors to make into her masterpieces.”  
  
Benny laughs. “Those ladies are my best customers. And Dorothy has sent me a lot of business over the years.”  
  
“Charlie has told me that your sheep are bred for their soft wool?”  
  
Benny perks up at the chance to talk about his sheep and Dean puts up his hands and says, “I’m going to go check on Sammy.” Jess had arrived not long ago as well, and they are tucked into a corner making eyes at each other. Cas knows that Dean just wants to tease his brother. He watches him walk away and then turns back to Benny.  
  
“You’ve got it bad, dontcha brother?” the large man says, not really a question.  
  
“Umm,” is all Castiel manages to say.  
  
“Well, you better not go breaking his heart. Dean’s got a tough exterior but he’s a softie on the inside,” Benny warns.  
  
Castiel doesn’t feel like he can promise not to hurt Dean, considering he’s only here for a short time, but he is starting to wish that wasn’t the case. He can see himself staying here among his group of new friends and that’s a bit shocking to consider. Who knew he would get so attached to this town?


	4. Lost Hours and Secrets Too

Hanging up the phone, Castiel sinks his head onto his folded arms. He’d just spent an hour being bounced from one sales representative to another, trying to discover the status of the new machinery that should have been delivered two weeks ago. Finally he got his answer - it's stuck in a warehouse in Japan - and a promise that they should arrive within the month. Castiel was forced to accept that, of course, and tries not to think about how far behind they are on the automation upgrades.  
  
The other side of his job here is downsizing the workforce and he’s behind on that as well. His reasoning that he’d given to Zachariah and Michael when they asked for status reports, is that he’ll need a significant workforce when the machinery finally arrives and needs to be installed.  
  
The reality of the mission he started with when he came to New Ulm crashes over him. He’d stashed away the termination list he’d started, abandoning it in a folder on his computer long ago. Now that he knows everyone so well, it’s hard to consider firing anyone - and he has some regrets about firing Bobby Singer as well. Instead of digging around to find the list and thinking seriously about it once more like he should, he calls to Charlie for some coffee and attempts to look through the newest supply reports on his desk. Charlie brings him coffee as well as a granola bar, and when he raises an eyebrow, she crosses her arms and looks stern. He slumps and thanks her; she merely pats him on the shoulder and leaves.  
  
His cell phone rings and he doesn’t bother checking who it is, assuming it's just Zachariah calling to bother him more about timetables and deadlines.  
  
“Castiel Morgan,” he says flatly.  
  
“Hey Cas! It’s Dean,” is the reply and suddenly his day is much better.  
  
“Hello, Dean.”  
  
“Is this a bad time?”  
  
“Not at all. What can I do for you?”  
  
“So listen, what are you doing this weekend?” Dean asks. Castiel can hear the sounds of Dean typing on his keyboard.  
  
“I don’t have any particular plans. Why?”  
  
“I want to introduce you to one of our traditions around here. A big group of us gets together every March when the weather starts to warm up.”  
  
Laughing at the claim that it has warmed up when the temperature barely gets above freezing every day, Cas answers, “What sort of event?”  
  
“That’s a surprise. But I promise it will be fun.”  
  
“I trust you, Dean,” Castiel assures him sincerely.  
  
“Thanks,” Dean says and he can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll pick you up at 8 on Saturday. In the morning. That ok?”  
  
“Sounds wonderful.”  
  
“Awesome. See you then.”  
  
Ten minutes later, Charlie stops by again. Without a word, she rakes her eyes up and down his body. He is slightly confused, well aware that she’s not checking him out, but she just wiggles her eyebrows and grins as she leaves. Castiel shakes his head and gets back to work.  


 

* * *

  
  
At 8 am sharp that Saturday, Dean pulls up in front of Cas’ house. It’s still dark out and bone-chillingly cold. Dean grins at him as he climbs into the truck, blasting the heat and the radio.  
  
They pull up to the park and Cas is surprised at the transition - it looks like a scene straight out of a medieval story. Well, with a few anachronisms including a “forbidden” tent for using your phone or a computer.  
  
“What is this, Dean?”  
  
“It’s a LARP event - the Queen’s Feast.”  
  
“What is LARP?” Castiel asks, completely confused.  
  
“Live Action Role Play. Dude! It means running around outside sword fighting and dressing up like knights and mercenaries.”  
  
“It sounds... interesting," Cas says, then his eyes widen. “But I don’t have a costume, Dean.”  
  
“Don’t worry, I think Charlie has you covered.”  
  
Castiel swallows nervously.  
  
“It’s a ton of fun, Cas. Let’s head to the queen’s quarters and see what she’s got for you.”  
  
“Charlie is the queen?”  
  
“Hell yeah she is.”  
  
Castiel is still doubtful, but he has faith in Dean and doesn’t want to make him feel like he’s not excited to be here. He is. This is just not his sort of scene at all, and being surrounded by all the elves and trolls - and _dear Lord, is that a centaur?_ \- makes him feel just the slightest bit anxious.  
  
The large tent in the middle of the space is red with gold trim, vaulted up at least twelve feet in the air. Cas looks up at it with wide eyes and Dean laughs, mumbling something that sounds like “noob” under his breath. The inside of the tent is just as ostentatious as the outside, complete with gold mirrors and overstuffed chairs.  
  
Charlie greets them enthusiastically from where she’s leaning over a table with plastic soldiers arranged in groups on a map. Dorothy is sitting sprawled out in a wooden chair, wearing a chain mail shirt and a sword buckled to her belt. She gives them a lazy salute in greeting, a playful smirk on her face.  
  
“This is amazing,” Cas says with wonder.  
  
“It’s good to be queen,” Charlie says. Cas can’t help but agree.  
  
Dean slings his duffel onto a chair and starts pulling out his outfit.  
  
Castiel gets shooed to one of the corners of the tent and Charlie hands him a huge pile of clothes. “You’re going to be the queen’s huntsman!” she says brightly and Castiel starts to feel the pull of excitement himself. “Here’s your bow and arrow.”  
  
“I don’t know how to shoot this,” he confesses as he takes it from her.  
  
“That’s OK, during the game you don’t really have to. But they do have a tournament and you could learn how if you want.”  
  
He turns to look at Dean who nods encouragingly and so he agrees, tentative. Who knew that he would be learning so much in one trip to the park?  
  
His outfit turns out to be complex with many layers of leather and some incongruous bits of chain mail. It's slightly too tight, but Dean looks at him intensely, licking his lips as he gets the belt buckled on and so Cas figures it's not all bad. Dean looks like he would rather take it off Castiel piece by piece and he files that thought away for another time. He hopes Charlie will let him keep the outfit in between events; he'll have to ask her about paying her for it. Finally he pulls on the vambraces and feels like he’s becoming his character.  
  
Dean steps up behind him as Castiel starts to smooth the shirt down his torso and takes his hand, squeezing gently. “You look great, Cas.” Cas laces their fingers together and takes a good look at Dean’s outfit, which is equally attractive.  
  
They wander the faireground with Charlie leading the way, Dorothy by her side. Many subjects, mostly women, come by to pay their respects to the queen and Dorothy glowers at each and every one. Charlie is friendly and aloof, and makes it up to Dorothy with occasional kisses.  
  
Looking around at all the various stalls, Cas feels transported back to the happier days of his childhood. He’s startled when he comes to a metalworking stand and finds none other than Bobby Singer behind the counter, carefully looping chain mail together under a standing magnifying glass.  
  
“What the hell is he doing here?” Bobby grouches to Dean, flicking his eyes up at Castiel.  
  
“Just thought I would get out and have some fresh air," Cas answers, holding up his bow so the man can see.  
  
“You even got any arrows for that bow, son?”  
  
"Yes, I’ve got arrows.” Castiel pats the strap to the quiver on his shoulder.  
  
Bobby simply grunts.  
  
“We’ll see you at the tournament, Bobby,” Dean says, pulling Cas away by the elbow.  
  
The queen sits on her throne for awhile, hearing the grievances of the people, so Dean and Cas go to grab some food and sit off to one side, watching people go by. Dean explains the different factions to him and the history of the game they’re playing - Cas finds himself truly interested in all the intricacies involved.  
  
Jo walks by, flipping a knife in one hand. “Ready for the knife throwing contest, Joanna Beth?” Dean calls.  
  
“I’ll kick your ass, Winchester.”  
  
“We’ll see about that,” he calls. “She will,” he confides to Cas a moment later. “She wins every year.”  
  
Castiel looks at Jo with even more respect after that.  
  
After they finish eating their huge turkey legs and drink their mulled cider, Dean takes Cas to the archery range to practice with his bow.  
  
“Have you ever shot one of these before?” Dean asks.  
  
Castiel shakes his head, nervously pulling out an arrow from over his shoulder.  
  
“That’s OK. Let me show you.” Dean takes the bow and waves away the arrow, pointing to a barrel with arrows in it behind them. “These are better to use when you’re just practicing. The ones you have use blunt tips, so you can hit other players with them, but they’re not very well balanced. These are actually sharp, so be careful.”  
  
Dean picks an arrow, putting it in the bow and setting it in the arrow rest, then describes how to hold the arrow with three fingers. In one smooth motion, Dean draws the bow, pulling the end of the arrow to the corner of his mouth, and Cas feels his leather pants get even more uncomfortably tight. That is one of the hottest things he’s ever seen. He has trouble focusing on Dean’s continued narration about how to aim. Dean takes his shot and hits the target, about halfway between the edge and the bullseye.  
  
“Dean, that’s amazing," Castiel says.  
  
“Thanks man. I used to be able to hit the bulls-eye every time. My dad taught us to shoot - guns too.“  
  
“I went to summer camp once that had archery lessons but I never joined in.”  
  
“Give it a try.” Dean hands him the bow.  
  
Dean stands behind him, closer than is probably necessary, turning his body perpendicular to the target and guiding his arms and legs into the right position. Castiel sets the arrow in the bow the way Dean had and raises his arms. “Pull straight back and relax your shoulders,” he says right in Cas’ ear and he suppresses a shiver that races up his spine. Cas is surprised how hard it is to draw and his arms shake a bit trying to get it pulled as far as Dean had.  
  
“Now release,” Dean says, and he does. The arrow falls to the ground about three feet in front of them. Dean laughs quietly, patting him on the back. “It’s OK Cas, that’s pretty much what happens to everyone their first time.”  
  
Grumbling, Castiel is only slightly mollified by this. He tries again and again, getting the arrow farther on every try until one falls just under the target. His arms are trembling and he shakes them out, rolling his neck to stretch a bit. He sees there is only one more arrow in the barrel beside them.  
  
“You just keep practicing your draw, all right? I’ll go pick these up.” Dean wanders the course, gathering up the arrows they’d used. Cas lifts the bow, pulling back and releasing his fingers. He is only slightly distracted by the stretch of the material over Dean’s ass as he bends to pick up arrows. Once he changes course to retrieve the arrows that flew wide, Castiel grabs the last arrow and goes through the whole process, aiming his next shot.  
  
“Hello, minions,” he hears from behind him, turning slightly to see Charlie and Dorothy approaching. “How goes the archery lessons?” the queen asks.  
  
Cas grimaces and lets go of his draw, forgetting that he had an arrow nocked and ready to go. He sees Charlie’s eyes widen as she follows the arrow’s path and hears a “oof”, then something heavy falls to the ground before he is able to turn back to where he last saw Dean.  
  
When his eyes fall on Dean, he immediately covers his face with one hand. He just shot Dean with an arrow. _In the ass._  
  
“Oh shit,” he says, peeking out from between his fingers to see the arrow sticking straight in the air and follows the rush of the small crowd to Dean’s side.  
  
“Leave the arrow in,” Dorothy reminds them all. “It doesn’t look too deep but we’ll just play it safe.“  
  
“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Castiel babbles. “I lost control of the bow...”  
  
“It’s cool, dude,” comes the muffled reply from where Dean’s face is smashed against the grass. “I shoulda been keeping a closer eye on you, it was my responsibility.”  
  
Castiel shakes his head, ready to argue that it was all his fault, when he’s pushed aside by Bobby.    
  
“Sorry there, son,” Bobby mutters to Dean. “I didn't figure him for much of a shot.”  
  
Cas lets himself fade into the background, thinking miserably about how Dean will probably want nothing to do with him after this debacle.  
  
Two medics come running before too long - both dressed as elves but apparently very competent. After cutting the shaft away from the arrowhead, they load Dean carefully onto a gurney and Castiel has to endure the stares of everyone in the crowd as they make their way to the ambulance idling at the edge of the park. Dean insists that Cas come with him, much to Cas' surprise, so he climbs in beside Dean. Charlie waves and tells them that she’ll meet them at the hospital.  
  
Dr. Moore sighs dramatically when she sees Dean on the gurney, Cas following behind. “You know I like you guys well enough, but I’d rather you didn’t come visit me at work quite so often.”  
  
“This is my fault, again,” Cas tells her.  
  
“Dude, come on. It’s not your fault. You’d never done archery before," Dean argues.  
  
“Cas is the one who shot you? Wow.” Jess laughs. “Love the costumes, by the way.”  
  
“Yeah yeah, just fix me up, doc,” Dean grumbles.  
  
“Will do, Dean," she says, whisking him into surgery.  
  
Sam breezes in a few minutes later, bringing Ben and Charlie along. They talk for a few minutes about what happened,  
  
The door to the ER opens again and a police officer - a short woman with blonde hair - walks in. “Castiel Morgan?” she calls.  
  
Castiel swallows apprehensively. He’s never been questioned by the police before in his entire life. He’s only ever been pulled over for speeding once. His heart starts to race.  
  
“I’m Sheriff Hanscum,” she introduces herself. “I just need to ask you a couple questions.”  
  
“It was an accident -“ Castiel starts, still feeling the last bits of adrenaline coursing through his system.  
  
She holds up a hand. “I know, Mr. Morgan. I just need your statement. Was there a witness I can talk to as well?”  
  
Castiel calls Charlie over and they fill in the details until the officer is satisfied. She waves at Sam and Ben and smiles at Castiel.  
  
“Don’t worry, she’s one of the good guys,” Charlie assures him after the sheriff leaves. “Her partner Jody is in my knitting group, too.”  
  
Shaking his head, Cas just answers, “That's good to know. Now I just have to worry about all the gossip this will generate.”  
  
“Oh, for sure. People will be talking about this for years.”  
  
Castiel covers his face with his hands again, sighing mournfully.  


 

* * *

  
  
Castiel is apparently included in the town phone tree now - Jo calls him two days after the LARPing incident and asks him to make some food for Dean and Ben while Dean is laid up in bed recovering. He agrees to make a casserole and tells her he’ll bring it to Dean’s house that night.  
  
He has grown quite fond of his quaint little kitchen, slowly transitioning to cooking his own meals instead of having complete meals delivered. Not sure what Dean will like to eat, he figures a cheeseburger casserole is a safe bet. It turns out perfectly and he wraps it up with tin foil to keep warm. He heads right over after its done, leaving the dirty dishes for later.  
  
The roads are mostly cleared of snow; they haven’t had any storms since just after the new year and it doesn’t take long to get to Dean’s house. He walks up to the porch, seeing that Dean must have done some cleaning up in the yard before he was injured. Suddenly Castiel feels extra guilty about the accident - he knows that Dean has a lot of responsibilities and it has to be frustrating to be forced to take it easy.  
  
Knocking on the door, he waits for a moment, then knocks again. He can hear Dean calling for Ben, but no one comes to the door. Castiel shifts from foot to foot, but finally just lets himself in. He finds Dean struggling to get up off the couch and rushes over to him, setting the dish on the coffee table and helping Dean down onto his side again.  
  
“You cooked?” Dean asks, huffing as he shifts around restlessly.  
  
“I’m really beginning to enjoy cooking,” Cas says. “But Jo suggested that I bring you something. When I fell through the ice, I came home to a fridge full of food. That’s never... I’ve never been part of a group that helps each other so selflessly.” He lifts the edge of the tin foil. “It’s cheeseburger casserole.”  
  
Dean gives him a fond look, and says, “It smells awesome.”  
  
“I’m sorry, again,” Cas says.  
  
Dean waves a dismissive hand. “I know you didn’t mean to shoot me, dude. Ben, on the other hand, seems to be pissed at you. It’s hard to tell, he’s such a typical teenager -”  
  
They’re interrupted as Ben tromps down the stairs, his nose leading the way. “Mmmm, what is that?” he asks.  
  
“Now you decide to show up?” Dean scolds half-heartedly.  
  
“Hi, Ben,” Cas greets him.  
  
The teenager grins and takes the dish of food into the kitchen and they can hear dishes and silverware clanking.  
  
“I guess he he forgives you,” Dean says.  
  
Ben brings out a plate for his dad and one for Cas, and returns with one of his own. Dean shifts to sit on his donut-shaped cushion - “Not a word,” he warns Cas - and they eat together at the coffee table. Turning the TV on, they find a movie to watch, and sit in companionable silence. Once they are done with dinner, Ben cleans up the dishes and disappears back upstairs.  
  
Dean takes some pain medication and with a groan, lies down on his side once more. He folds his knees up so Castiel can sit next to him and they finish the movie.  
  
“Want to go on a normal date once I can sit for more than half an hour?” Dean asks after they turn the television off.  
  
“Of course,” Castiel answers with a smile. He moves to sit on the floor in front of Dean, and kisses Dean awkwardly.  
  
“Good,” Dean says, his voice starting to slur. “I think the meds are kicking in.”  
  
Castiel pulls the blanket from the side of the couch and drapes it over Dean, tucking it in next to his arms and legs. He kisses Dean’s cheek and lets himself out.  


 

* * *

  
  
On a bright, sunny morning at the beginning of April, his phone rings at exactly 8 am. Charlie picks up, then transfers it to his office, announcing, “Headquarters is on the line.”  
  
He thanks his assistant and picks up his phone, but the last thing he expects is to hear Michael’s voice say “Good morning, Castiel.” Usually his oldest brother is too busy to make his own phone calls, and more often than not Castiel has to talk to one of Michael’s lackeys (usually Zachariah).  
  
“Hello, Michael.”  
  
And that is the end of the pleasantries, as his brother gets straight to business. “We’re ceasing production on all military garments immediately,” Michael states, and Castiel feels his heart drop. “There were some issues with our latest products and the military requested we make changes if we want to keep the contract. We’ve decided those changes will not be cost effective.”  
  
Castiel is completely speechless for a long moment. The fact that he should have known about this much sooner gets overshadowed by more pressing matters. “What does that mean for the New Ulm facility?”  
  
“Most likely, we’ll be shutting it down,” Michael answers levelly, without a trace of emotion in his voice.  
  
This can’t be happening. Castiel has done everything right, worked so hard to make sure this facility would be up-to-date and ready for the new lines of products, and his company is just going to give up. All the people Castiel has befriended and gotten so close to, all those people who cared for him after he nearly died will be out of work and this town might not be able to recover.  
  
“You can’t just make that decision!” Castiel insists. “I need to be in that meeting.”  
  
“If you feel the need to be there, the department heads will be meeting tomorrow morning at 9 to discuss what happens next.”  
  
“I’ll be there. I will see you then.” He hangs up without saying goodbye and stands, pacing around his office for a moment. Charlie comes to see what’s going on, and he gives her a serious look. “Can you get me on the first flight to Miami?”  
  
“Of course,” she answers, nodding, and hurries back to her desk. Castiel rushes around, grabbing his laptop and haphazardly bundling up against the cold. When he gets to the house, he packs a small overnight bag, leaving the rest of his things in disarray. His phone rings twenty minutes later and Charlie lets him know that his flight leaves in four hours, so he better get on the road to Minneapolis.  
  
After a harrowing drive, during which he narrowly misses hitting a cow standing in the middle of the road, he checks in and gets through security. Once he has a chance to breathe at the gate, he boots up his laptop to review his reports. He groans as he realizes he has outdated documents saved on his computer; he must have backed up his newest work and mistakenly grabbed the old report.  
  
With a sigh, he calls Charlie and informs her where his newest documents are and she promises to send him the files.  
  
Weather related delays and mechanical issues conspire against him, and he gets to his house in Miami well past midnight. His apartment smells musty from being shut up for months and while it has never felt like home, it feels even less so at the moment. He falls into bed after stripping off all his clothes ( _why is it so hot?_ ) and sleeps like the dead until his alarm goes off.  
  
At first, when he wakes up, he’s completely confused. It feels like the last 6 months were just a dream and the memory of Dean was something he imagined. He arrives at the headquarters with plenty of time, thankfully finding the reports he needs at the top of his email inbox. The atmosphere is tense; there are a few whispered conversations going on but nothing close to the boisterous ones before he left. As they sit around the table, a few people tell him it’s good to see him, surprised he survived in the frozen wilderness that is Minnesota. Finally he sinks into a chair, grabbing a bagel to settle his nervous stomach.  
  
When Michael comes in, he cocks an eyebrow at Cas and the bagel stuffed in his mouth. He swallows quickly and all chatter dies down, waiting for the news.  
  
Michael stands up, a manila folder clutched in one hand. “As you all know, we’re ending our contract with the defense department and shutting down all manufacture of military garments.”  
  
“What the hell happened?” Lucifer demands, slapping his hands flat on the table.  
  
Michael tosses the folder towards Lucifer, and it opens to reveal a stack of photos. Castiel can somewhat see across the table and what he can see causes him to gasp. It looks like... injuries. Burns on skin, with plastic melted in the wounds. He looks up at Michael with wide eyes and his brother looks back with a blank expression.  
  
“The new polyester material we’ve been implementing apparently melts at too low a temperature, causing issues for the soldiers.”  
  
“Issues?!” Castiel repeats, standing up and pulling the photos towards himself. “These are horrific injuries.”  
  
“Castiel, please,” Michael admonishes and Castiel sits back down in his chair, seething, paging through the increasingly disturbing images. Most of the photos don’t include the soldiers’ faces, but a few do and it’s all he can do to avoid crying when he sees their pained expressions.  
  
“This means that a few of our facilities will be shut down and sold at this time, while we focus on civilian clothing at our more modernized factories. The factories affected will be the ones in South Dakota, Wyoming and Minnesota.”  
  
Castiel doesn’t want to give up without a fight. “I’d like to propose that some of these facilities stay operational. The people of New Ulm are hardworking and dedicated. It would be a terrible mistake to shut them down. We can finish the modernization procedures they already started and switch to a civilian line-”  
  
“The product line is dead, and so is the factory,” Michael says loudly.  
  
“We can't just write off these people's livelihoods,” he persists.  
  
“Castiel! That’s enough.”  
  
He sits back in his chair, dejected. How is he going to tell the workers? All the people in the town who he’s come to consider friends? Dean?  
  
“We need a plan for shutdown,” Zachariah finally speaks up, ignoring Castiel entirely. “We'll keep a bare minimum of employees at each location until we move any remaining physical assets off-site.”  
  
Once the meeting is over, Castiel meanders back to his office. Ava looks at him sadly and he attempts a smile. “Will you be returning to New Ulm, sir?” she asks quietly. “There’s a late flight that leaves at 7.”  
  
“Yes, book that for me please. Thank you.”  
  
His trip back to New Ulm goes by in a blur. In a span of less than 24 hours, all Castiel has worked toward for months has come crashing down. He has no idea what he's going to say to all his friends, and he wishes he could go to Charlie's right now, sit down with some hot cocoa and forget his problems.  
  
When he arrives, his house is dark and he trudges to the front porch using the light on his phone. By chance, he glances to the side as he unlocks the door and sees the package, a squishy bundle wrapped in tissue paper sitting beside the door. There's a note attached, but when he unfolds it his breath catches. It's a printout of the termination list he'd started way back when he first came to Minnesota.  
  
At the bottom, a short message is written in Charlie's blocky handwriting:  
  
 **I found this mixed in with your report docs. You never said anything about layoffs. I considered you a friend, but I guess I was wrong. Thanks a lot for putting me at the top of the list.**  
  
 **I've told Dean to expect a call from you regarding union negotiations.**  
  
 **This doesn't mean we’re still friends or anything, but here’s a scarf I was making for you.**  
  
 **Charlie**  
  
He unwraps one corner of the paper and sees the beautiful blue scarf inside and smiles sadly. He’s going to have to tell them that the situation is so much worse than a few layoffs.  
  
Checking his watch, he decides it's not too late to head to Charlie's house. Getting back in his car, he blasts the heat - who knew a day in Miami would make it feel so cold here - and drives along the familiar streets.  
  
Once he pulls up to the house, he's surprised to see a good number of cars parked out front. With the start, he remembers it's Tuesday, which means Charlie is hosting her knitting club. He is tempted to turn around and run, but he steels himself and walks up to the door, ringing the bell. Dorothy answers, expression thunderous, and folds her arms like she would prevent him from entering if it were up to her.  
  
"I just need to talk to everyone," he says, hands open in front of him in a gesture of surrender.  
  
Finally she steps back to let him in. It would look bad if the factory manager froze to death on their front porch, Castiel supposes.  
  
Sure enough, there’s a large group gathered in the living room, including Sam and Jo. Only Dean is notably absent. It doesn’t look like much knitting is being done; only Charlie has her needles out. Everyone else is talking, but they fall silent when Castiel enters the room.  
  
“What the hell do you want?” Jo says, eyes narrowed.  
  
“You should have told Dean you were considering layoffs, Castiel,” Sam says, his face blank. “He’s really pissed.”  
  
“It’s so much worse than that,” he says, feeling the weight of everyone’s stares on him.  
  
"Oh yeah, what could be worse?” Charlie asks without looking up.  
  
“I just found out in Miami that they are going to close the plant.”  
  
His announcement is followed by angry shouts and muttering, and then Jo tells everyone to shut up.  
  
“I know that this might not mean much,” Cas continues. “But I am absolutely determined to figure something out."  
  
Jo snorts derisively, but everyone else just sits without speaking, looking dejected.  
  
“I thought your contract with the military would ensure you’d have a stable product line,” Sam finally says into the silence.  
  
“Yes, it should have, but we lost the contract. Elysium Clothing decided to cut costs by using an inferior polyester material in the garments,” Cas explains. “There were... unfortunate incidents.” He cringes inwardly, recognizing the same vague language Michael had used at their meeting.  
  
“What does that even mean?” Dorothy asks.  
  
Castiel takes a deep breath. “The plastic thread caught on fire and melted when the soldiers were hit with IEDs.” He hesitates, and then finishes, “Many of the people injured had plastic in their wounds as well as shrapnel and it made their recovery understandably more difficult.”  
  
There are gasps around the room at his revelation. Charlie continues knitting and says, "It's too bad you can’t make the garments out of wool. It’s flame retardant."  
  
Everyone's attention focuses on Charlie and she looks up, surprised when she sees them all looking at her. "What?" She says.  
  
"Could we?" Sam turns to Castiel, a hopeful expression on his face.  
  
"It's possible," he says. The wheels in his mind are turning; he thinks about the machinery they have stored under plastic at the factory, the looms that haven't been run in years. Who knows if those will still function. "Where would we get enough wool?"  
  
"Benny's sheep farm, where we get our supplies, should have more than enough to get us started," Charlie suggests, clearly excited about this idea. "If we need more, he can ask around at other farms."  
  
"It would definitely be great to start with locally-sourced materials," Sam agrees.  
  
"This could work," Castiel says. "We're going to need more help, though."  
  
He's going to have to talk to Bobby - he’s the best person to ask about the machines that need to be put back in the rotation. This won’t be easy.  


 

* * *

  
  
Standing in front of Bobby’s front door, Castiel hesitates. He hasn’t seen Bobby since the fateful LARPing incident and isn’t sure how his presence will be received. He finally gets the courage to knock and is thrown off when Ellen answers the door.  
  
“What are you doing here?” he asks, more curtly than he’d intended.  
  
Luckily she just smiles and answers. “I live here. What are you doing here?”  
  
“I’m here to see Bobby.”  
  
“Bobby! Robin Hood is here!” she smirks and he can’t help but chuckle - he’s constantly being reminded of the archery incident. Ellen steps back and lets him in and he enters to see a cozily decorated house. It’s very similar to his own, with floral wallpaper and vintage lamps, and the curtains on the window he sees when he rounds the corner into the living room might even be the exact same as his. But the leather furniture is definitely masculine, in addition to a few sets of antlers hung on the wall.  
  
Bobby is sitting on the couch facing the television, watching football highlights and working on a leather vest. Ellen waves him in and then disappears down another hall.  
  
“You and Ellen,” Castiel teases as he sits next to the former factory foreman.  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Bobby grumbles, focusing on a detail on the vest in his hands. “What brings you here? You giving me my old job back?”  
  
“Corporate is shutting down the plant,” Castiel begins and is startled when Bobby throws his project to the floor in a heap.  
  
“Goddammit!” he yells. “I knew this was gonna happen.”  
  
“What’s going on in there?” Ellen calls from the other room. “Remember the doc said you need to keep your blood pressure down.”  
  
“Ahhhhh, lay off me, you nosy old hoot owl.”  
  
Ellen simply laughs, entering the room with a tray of coffee mugs. They each take a cup and Castiel cradles the warm china in his hands, then takes a sip of the delicious rich coffee.  
  
“So what was all the yelling about?” Ellen prompts.  
  
“My brothers want to close the factory. The materials we were using to manufacture the military garments were cheap and there were some horrible injuries that resulted from the threads melting against soldier’s skin,” Castiel summarizes.  
  
Ellen gasps and says, “That’s horrible!”  
  
“Yes, it really is. The pictures.... they were very disturbing. But I have a plan and I need your help. We’re going to use wool to make shirts - if we can produce it and test the fire resistance in four weeks, then we can prove this factory needs to stay operational.”  
  
“A month?” Bobby says weakly. “That’s impossible. I mean, you're just gonna get everybody's hopes up and then they'll all end up out of work anyway.”  
  
“I think its worth it, for the people in uniform -“ Cas starts.  
  
“No, I am not taking the fall for that, “ Bobby insists. “You're on your own.”  
  
Ellen looks down at her coffee sadly. “Those poor soldiers,” she whispers.  
  
“I’m sorry I can’t help you, son. Good luck.”  


 

* * *

  
  
He meets with Benny the next day, undeterred by the setback he's already suffered. The meeting with the sheep farmer is awkward at best - he just can't seem to connect with the gruff man - but they agree on a deal where Cas buys a large amount of wool in exchange for preferred supplier status should the product take off. Sam draws up a contract for them and gets everything squared away.  
  
The last thing to deal with is the workers themselves. Quite a few of them quit as soon as the shutdown was announced, but that leaves the people he had begun to have a rapport with, not to mention to respect, so he counts that as a win. Late one afternoon he calls everyone into the break room and explains the plan. He gets a bunch of blank looks in return.  
  
“What kind of plan is that?” someone says.  
  
He knows it’s not the best plan, and definitely not the most foolproof and profitable one, but he feels good about it.  
  
"We have a large amount of uncarded wool. To make this work, we're going to need to recommission the old spinning frames as well as the cone winders. It will take a lot of work, from all of us."  
  
“Will we get paid for overtime?” another of the workers, Frank, asks.  
   
“No,” Castiel answers bluntly.  
  
“And if corporate - or the military - doesn’t like it? We'll put in a whole lot of work and end up out on our asses anyway.”  
  
“I won’t lie to you - there’s a good chance that will happen,” Castiel says. ”But I want you all to know that I will do everything in my power to make this work. Long hours, dealing with setbacks, whatever it takes.”  
  
He lets that sink in, looking around the room. He may not be betting his career on this - if he fails, his brothers would likely roll their eyes at him and send him to some other far-flung locale - but he’s starting to feel as though it isn’t worth working at a company that behaves that way. Treating their employees, including family members, like so many parts of a machine, only there to make a profit and thrown out if they fall behind.  
  
When he came here, he didn’t think that this would matter so much. But it matters now, a lot. The people in this town have become his friends and his colleagues. One in particular has brought him out of his shell and helped him deal with some of his issues, even if that person isn’t speaking to him at the moment. In a rare instance of being completely honest with himself, he admits that part of why he’s putting so much effort into this is so that Dean will forgive him. He doesn’t hold out a lot of hope for that outcome, however.  
  
“But you can be sure we’ll all be out on our asses if we don’t try,” someone says from behind Castiel. He whips around, recognizing Bobby’s voice. Bobby nods his head at him and turns to address the group gathered around them. He points at someone in the corner. “You got something better to do there, Rufus?” He looks over to the side. “And I doubt prospective employers will be lining up to fight over an idjit like Frank.”  
  
Everyone laughs and Frank grumbles.  
  
“This factory might get shut down,” Bobby continues, “but if it does, I don’t want to have to remember that this guy offered us a chance and I didn’t do anything about it.”  
  
Bobby puts a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, looking at him gravely. “You can count me in.”  


 

* * *

  
  
After days spent hunched over their computers, working on blueprints and specs for upgrades to the machinery, Charlie and Ash finally announce they’re ready to begin to implement the changes. The production floor echoes eerily as the four of them approach the slumbering machines and Bobby rips off the plastic. Dismayed, they see the old machines are rusted, falling apart and generally in bad shape. Bobby squares his shoulders and pulls out the printed specs that were rolled up in his coveralls.  
  
Several hours and two trips to the hardware store (and endless batches of coffee) later, it has become obvious that they had no idea how difficult this would be. The old machinery is just that - old - and as such, the screws don’t like to turn and the bolts don’t like to tighten. The first step is being able to card the wool into yarn and it’s getting snarled and tangled, coming out lumpy and rough. More issues follow when they move on to the other machines.  
  
Finally, Castiel has had enough and goes to take a walk in the freezing cold. He paces back and forth, literally tearing out his hair, and swears quietly under his breath. Hearing a truck approach, he turns to see that it’s Dean’s. He takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself and by the time Dean is standing next to him, he thinks he has himself mostly under control. The man still flinches when he sees his expression.  
  
“That bad, huh?” Dean teases.  
  
“Is this a surprise compliance visit from the union?” Cas snarks in return.  
  
“Maybe,” the other man says, refusing to take the bait. “Sam told me about what you’re doing and I thought I might be able to help.”  
  
It turns out Dean can do more than help. He had gone to school to be a mechanical engineer before he took custody of Ben, and is certified as a mechanic from working at the garage. There are a few changes to the plan that he works out with Ash and after that, things go much more smoothly. By midnight, the yarn they’re producing is good enough for the final product and they call it a night.  
  
Early the next morning, Dean and Sam show up with donuts for everyone and Dean gets right to work, wrestling the loom into submission. By lunch they have a set of acceptable panels and work those together into their first shirt. It’s a knobby ugly thing that no one would ever wear, but it passes their quick fire resistance test that Ash cobbled together from government specs he found on the internet.  
  
They run the process a few more times with a bit more success and once dinnertime rolls around, they decide to go to the Roadhouse to celebrate.  
  
Castiel goes to the bar to pick up drinks and when he comes back, Dean and Sam are leaning in toward one another, talking quietly. He hangs back for a minute but still overhears Sam say, “It’s so important that we make sure Charlie gets credit for this idea and they don’t steal it from her. You know this company is immoral and they will steal it and she’ll never see a cent...”  
  
When he sees Cas, Dean attempts to silence his brother and Sam turns around, catching sight of Cas. He tries to backtrack, “I mean, maybe they’d do the right thing.”  
  
“No, Sam, you’re right. Even though this is my family, I admit that they are only in it for the money. I’ve seen what has been happening for too long and I need to do something to change it. I think this is my chance to really make a difference.”  
  
"Really?" Sam's eyebrows go up in his surprise, a grin spreading across his face. "Cas, that's so awesome! We were just talking about getting a patent for Charlie's idea. It's the kind of thing that can be used for other applications and make a big difference in the world."  
  
“I think that’s great,” Cas agrees. “In the meantime, I’ll encourage my brothers to look for other ways they can be more conscientious. For example, there are a number of factories that could be upgraded to surpass the EPA standards.”  
  
“Dude, yeah, you should get on that,” Dean says.  
  
Castiel smiles and slides into the booth next to Dean. He listens to the brothers rib on each other and Dean casually slings his arm over the back of the booth, brushing his fingers through the hair on Cas’ neck. Sam notices, grinning into his beer, but doesn’t say anything.  
  
Jo stops by, pushing her way in beside Sam and they talk about their childhood stories from when Dean and Sam would come to visit. Castiel shudders when they talk about camping in the woods - he may have acclimated to living in a small town but there’s no way he would agree to sleeping outside in the cold.  
  
They get to talking about Ben and his new music group and what he’s doing in school, and Dean has drunk enough beer at this point that he says, “Lisa would be so proud of him.”  
  
Castiel sees Jo and Sam look worriedly at each other, and he adds that, “She absolutely would be, Dean.”  
  
Dean grins at him soppily and Cas leans in close. Once Dean looks around and catches Sam’s expression, he waves a hand. “No worries,” he says. “I trust Cas. I told him about what happened awhile back.”  
  
“You never tell anyone what happened, dude,” Sam insists.  
  
“Yeah well, Cas is different,” Dean answers and pulls Castiel in closer.  
  
The expression on Sam and Jo’s faces make it obvious that this isn’t a little thing, but Cas chooses not to dwell on it and just settles in to listen to them move on to stories about Sam at college and Dean’s worst clients.  
  
He’s never had so much fun hanging out with a group of friends, and maybe hasn’t ever had any friends like this before in his life. He only hopes their efforts to keep the factory operational will pay off and he'll be able to keep them. He reaches for the fries, smiling when Dean squeezes his shoulder.  



	5. You Can Just Hold Onto Me

The rest of the week is a whirlwind of calls from people interested in what they’re doing at the factory. There are regional sheep farmers interested in being suppliers  - Benny has been busy getting the word out - as well as from equipment distributors who have newfangled equipment they want to sell. But what surprises Castiel the most are the calls from investors who want in on the ground floor. He takes that to mean that they’ve hit on a good idea, and files their information away for later. In the meantime, he assures everyone that they have the resources they need at the moment and tries to focus on the challenges at hand.  
  
At last their efforts pay off and they produce a shirt that passes more rigorous testing and isn’t completely embarrassing to wear. They send their best one yet to Elysium’s contact in the military and Castiel gets a very enthusiastic response back. That, on top of the interest from others in the industry, gets his mind working, thinking about all the possibilities that have opened up for them.  
  
He announces the good news to the exhausted employees who have stuck with him and they give a weak, exhausted cheer in return. He insists they all take a break and treats everyone to lunch, grabbing sandwiches from a cafe nearby. They sit in the middle of the factory floor, using a table made from stacked boxes and an old door. Looking around the makeshift table at everyone’s familiar faces, he couldn’t be more thankful that he never had to lay anyone off. He could have inadvertently fired someone who was pivotal to their success, like he had with Bobby.  
  
A few days later, he gets a phone call from Michael, enduring a very uncomfortable conversation about how Castiel went behind his back, modifying equipment and making deals with suppliers. Finally, Michael reveals that he and some of the other executives will be coming to see the plant themselves the next day.  
  
After they hang up, Castiel does his best not to panic, rushing out of his office and down the hall to the production floor.  
  
“Everyone, listen up!” he calls out, and everyone freezes in place to stare at him. “The bosses from HQ are heading up here tomorrow - they want to see what we’re working on.”  
  
Charlie stands up from where she was adjusting a bolt on one of the carding machines, a smear of grease across her forehead. “We probably should clean this place up, don’t you think?”  
  
Glancing around, Castiel becomes aware of all the evidence that they’ve been working around the clock for weeks: discarded metal, bits of wool fluff and yarn, as well as to-go containers and napkins. “Yes, that would be best. We want to make a good impression and convince them we know what we’re doing.”  
  
Immediately taking charge, Charlie sorts people into groups to get started cleaning and she shoos him back to his office. “Go type up some impact reports to show the muckety-mucks when they get here.”  
  
He frowns at the disrespectful phrase she used, but thanks her all the same.  
  
A caravan of unmarked black cars pulls into the parking lot of the factory early in the afternoon and Castiel waiting at the front door, ready to greet his brother as well as Zachariah and Crowley. None of the factory employees had gotten much sleep the night before, but Charlie is dressed more professionally than he’s ever seen her, in a pantsuit with her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Ash has joined them as well, wearing a flannel with sleeves for once and his hair combed. Castiel is grateful beyond words that his friends and coworkers have stepped up beside him to make this work.  
  
The executives are all dressed to the nines like always and Castiel compares them to his own slightly more casual outfit. He realizes he has slowly relaxed his own wardrobe to match his what his coworkers wear and now he blends in much better with the factory workers.  
  
Wiping his sweaty hands on his slacks, he steps forward to shake everyone’s hands. “Good morning. Thank you for coming,” he says to each of them, moving down the line. Crowley has his customary smirk on his face, glancing around at the shabby front office area. No doubt he’s making note of the dust bunnies in the corners and the moth-eaten curtains; nothing gets past Crowley. Michael has a pinched expression on his face and Castiel’s stomach sinks at the thought that all their hard work might not be good enough.  
  
“I’d like to introduce Ms. Charlie Bradbury. It was her genius idea that sparked this project and she’s been an integral part of the conversion process.”  
  
Charlie seems subdued during this conversation, downplaying her role and attempting to shift the focus off herself. As soon as she can, she escapes back to the production floor and Cas covers for her by waving Ash forward to explain his role in their success. He wishes that Dean would have agreed to be there to take some credit, but he understands that his friend likes being in the spotlight even less than Charlie does.  
  
“This is Ash Douglas. His work with the machine blueprints made all this possible,” Castiel says. Predictably, Ash keeps the executives occupied by going into great technical detail and before long Castiel has to remind him that he needs to be helping Charlie with the loom that had suddenly misaligned this morning.  
  
After introductions are finished, Castiel takes the group around the plant, showing them the process of manufacturing their product and glossing over how much of the machinery is simply cobbled together. He is well aware of Michael’s disapproving frown as he looks over everything; it must look highly unorganized and haphazard.  
  
“I do not appreciate how you did this without any authorization, Castiel,” Michael comments at one point, pulling himself up to his full height.  
  
“Yes, I realize that,” Cas agrees, then holds his breath as Michael comes to his decision.  
  
“Lucky for you, our contact at the military was very enthusiastic about this product.”  
  
Castiel feels very lucky indeed, but just nods along with relief as his brother continues. “I want to plan on ramping up production and have the first batch ready within the next month. Is that doable?”  
  
Feeling bolder now that he has his brother’s approval, he lays out his terms. “I would need to hire back a good number of the previous workforce, with a bonus for those who worked so hard to make this a reality.”  
  
“Of course,” Michael agrees. “Do you need new machinery?”  
  
“No, I think we’ll stick to what we have. Our engineers and designers have done a great job.”  
  
“Very well. Send me a list of those who need to be compensated.”  
  
Castiel walks back into the middle of the production floor and calls the ragtag group of workers together. “Thank you everyone, for your hard work and dedication. It is because of our dedicated employees that we managed to make a more cost-effective product with the existing equipment and labor force. They said it couldn’t be done, but we showed them.”  
  
A few people begin to applaud, but Castiel holds up his hands and continues, “Our product has been approved by the military and Elysium Clothing wants to be ready for the first shipment to go out in 30 days. Congratulations!”  
  
Cheers and applause echo through the factory, and he takes a few minutes to pat each of the employees on the back, thanking them personally. When he’s finished with his rounds, Michael catches his attention and asks Cas to show him his office. Once they shut the door behind them, Michael drops an envelope on his desk.  
  
“What’s this?” Castiel picks it up, feeling the heft.  
  
“It’s your executive compensation package. The rest of the board is really impressed with your work here, and we have decided to make you the Vice President of Elysium.”  
  
Castiel’s heart soars - it’s what he’s always wanted. But then he lets the statement sink in and looks at his brother in shock. “But... that’s Lucifer’s job.”  
  
Michael simply nods, smiling stiffly. “We'll expect you in Miami next week.”  
  
The executives leave as quickly as they came, leaving a happy but exhausted group in their wake. Castiel sits in his office, staring at the envelope containing a contract that includes a huge increase in his salary and doesn’t look up when someone knocks lightly on the doorframe.  
  
“Cas?” Charlie says, sounding worried. “I thought you might want some coffee.” She sits down in front of his desk, setting down a steaming mug. “Are you trying to set fire to that envelope with your mind?” she teases after a moment.  
  
He finally snaps out of it, meeting her eyes. “My brother told me the board made me VP of the company.”  
  
“Whoa!” She jumps up and comes around to his side of the desk, hugging him awkwardly. “That’s great, right? You said you always wanted to be a bigger part of the company.”  
  
“Yes, but Michael seems to be using it to get rid of my other brother, Lucifer, and I’m not entirely comfortable with that,” Cas explains. ”They’ve never gotten along. but I can’t imagine that Lucifer would have quit. This isn’t going to make things better in my family.”  
  
“Will it make things better for the company?” Charlie asks shrewdly.  
  
“It may,” Castiel concedes. “Less in-fighting among the executives is always a good thing, but I presume Michael will expect me to go along with most of his decisions. Little does he know, I will fight back if I don’t agree with him. I will no longer put up with being pushed aside and ignored.”  
  
“Good for you, Cas.”  
  
“I will do my best to make a difference,” Castiel promises.  
  
“I know you will,” Charlie says, pulling him out of his office chair. “In the meantime, we better get some rest.”  
  
Castiel agrees, sending the group home for the rest of the week to recuperate and spend time with their families. After everyone else leaves, however, he stands looking out over the factory floor and thinking about the future. Once upon a time, he couldn't wait to leave this town and now he’s dreading the day he has to leave. That surprises him more than any of the other events of the past few months.  
  
When he can’t ignore the way his eyelids are starting to droop any longer, he turns out the lights in the plant and heads to his house. He sleeps fitfully and in his dreams he’s wandering, looking for a place to call home.  


 

* * *

  
  
Some of the employees organize a goodbye party for him a few days later and it feels bittersweet. He’s become even more conflicted about this turn of events in the past couple days, beginning to hope for a sign that he should turn down Michael’s offer and stay here in New Ulm.  
  
When he sees Dean standing outside the Roadhouse waiting for him, his heart jumps in his chest and he thinks, _this is it_. They’ve become very close during Castiel’s time in Minnesota and he feels like they fit so well together; he’s fairly certain Dean feels the same. Castiel is sure Dean will ask him not to go back to Miami.  
  
As he approaches the building, he can hear the racket of voices coming from inside. Dean has his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his shoulders are hunched inwards. When he looks up, seeing Cas’ shadow from the streetlamp across the snow, Cas is confused to see that Dean looks sad.  
  
“Hey,” Dean says.  
  
“Hello, Dean,” Castiel returns, a tilting his head with a frown.  
  
“It’s pretty loud in there, so I thought I’d tell you goodbye out here,” Dean explains, stepping closer to him and wrapping the end of Cas’ scarf around his hand. “This scarf looks really good on you.”  
  
It’s the scarf Charlie made to match his eyes and it’s one of his favorite pieces of clothing he’s ever owned. “Thank you,” he says.  
  
Castiel looks into Dean’s eyes for a long moment, searching them for any indication of how the man is feeling. Their breath fans out in white clouds, mingling together and reflecting the red and blue lights of the Roadhouse sign above them.  
  
“You know, you've done some pretty amazing things for this town,” Dean says quietly.  
  
“Thank you. This experience has changed my life.” Cas replies.  
  
“Everyone here is gonna miss you a lot,” Dean hesitates. “Sam and Ben… but especially me,” he adds.  
  
Dean pulls him in close, touching their cold noses together. “There's a whole party in there, just for you,” Dean whispers. “You don't want to miss that.”  
  
“Yeah,” Cas says and then leans in, placing a soft kiss on Dean’s lips.  
  
Dean’s eyes close and he sighs. “I’ll be in there in a while,” he assures him.  
  
Nodding, Castiel walks backwards toward the door, turning at the last minute to pull it open. The noise swells even louder, the loud bass reverberating in his chest. With one last glance over his shoulder, he smiles at Dean and enters the bar.  
  
The restaurant is packed full of people and he has a moment when he considers turning right back around to go outside and find Dean. Instead, there’s a cheer from the crowd when they spot him hovering by the door and he plasters an insincere grin on his face, making his way through the crowd to the bar.  
  
Sam gets up from his barstool and pulls Castiel into a hug. Shouting over the crowd, he says, “Did you run into Dean?”  
  
“Yes. He seems troubled,” Cas answers.  
  
They’re interrupted from talking more when Ellen sets out more drinks and calls out, “This round is on Cas!”  
  
Everyone laughs, cheering again, and Castiel hugs Ellen and then Jo. “I’ll miss spending time here,” he tells them.  
  
Sheriff Hanscum wanders over to offer her congratulations. “Call me Donna,” she insists, and introduces her “partner in crime”, Jody Mills. Jody rolls her eyes fondly and shakes Cas’ hand.  
  
“It’s nice to meet you, Castiel,” Jody says. “We sure appreciate what you’ve done around here.”  
  
“Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without the help of my friends and coworkers,” he says.  
  
Jody and Donna get pulled into a conversation with Ash, and Castiel takes the opportunity to glance quickly over his shoulder in the direction of the door. He feels his heart sink when he doesn’t see any sign of Dean. Sam is giving him a knowing look when he turns back.  
  
“What?” Cas asks.  
  
“Don’t worry man, he’ll be here,” Sam assures him.  
  
After another round of drinks, Castiel works his way around the room, shaking hands and getting pats on the back. Bobby and some of the older workers from the plant invite him to sit while they tell some stories of when they started at the plant and some of the past foremen. He frequently looks around, certain that he feels Dean’s presence, but he’s never there.  
  
At the end of the night, when he gets a ride home with Sam and Jess, he wonders if Dean ever intended to come inside at all.  


 

* * *

  
  
Taking off from the Minneapolis airport, Cas stares out the window at the snowy fields below, which are finally starting to show green for the short warm season. The warm air in Miami hits him like a freight train, just like the cold air all those months ago and he wonders if he’ll ever get used to the hot mugginess again. He figures he will get used to it, in time, but he’s not sure he wants to.  
  
Standing in his apartment, he sets his bags down, not bothering to unpack. That particular chore seems like it would be the final step away from his life in Minnesota and he doesn’t have the energy to deal with that today. Maybe tomorrow.  
  
This apartment feels even less like home than it had the last time he was here. Castiel misses the smell of the wood burning stove and the squeak of the hardwood floors under his feet. Dean will never join him in these rooms and  the sound of his laugh or the comfort of his presence won’t fill the air. He wishes the last glimpse of the man hadn’t been him looking so dejected. He’s grown to care so much for Dean - why didn’t he make an effort to find out where they stood? Castiel was waiting for a sign, but maybe Dean was too.  
  
He plugs in his phone, considering calling Meg or one of his other friends, but decides that wouldn’t make him feel any better. Staring out his window instead, he looks out at the fast-paced activity below. Eventually he falls asleep on his couch, but not until he turns on the air conditioner so low he needs a blanket to sleep.  
  
In the morning he forces himself awake and goes for his customary run along the shore. He finds that he’s forgotten where all the protruding roots are and the feeling of his feet hitting the sand feels alien. The lady at the coffee truck doesn’t wave back and he is shocked to think he’s been gone so long that she doesn’t recognize him.  
  
As soon as he arrives at the Elysium Clothing office, Ava lets him know that Michael would like to see him. He hastily sets down his briefcase and hangs up the coat he accidentally put on, not realizing until he was in his car that he didn’t need it.  
  
Zachariah glares at him when Castiel passes his office. He just waves, unwilling to be dragged into more office politics. He realizes he took the position that Zachariah was undoubtedly after and smiles smugly to himself. Of course, he’d gladly hand over the position, considering that he’s not sure he feels comfortable being a part of this company anymore.  
  
He sees Crowley in his office, yelling at someone on the phone. Lucifer’s door is shut and the lights are off. Castiel is still frowning when he knocks on Michael’s door.  
  
“Welcome home,” Michael greets him.  
  
“Good morning, Michael.”  
  
“How does it feel to be one of the big dogs?” Michael asks, stepping around his desk and leaning one hip on the edge of it.  
  
“Great,” Castiel answers automatically. Then he steels himself and asks, “where is Lucifer?”  
  
Michael waves a dismissive hand. “He had a fit and flounced off. He wouldn’t listen to my explanation of how his performance has been slipping and how you managed to create a positive situation from a certain failure.”  
  
“I see,” Castiel answers, not quite sure what else to say. He shifts on his feet  
  
“He claims we’ll regret this decision, but of course I don’t put much stock in idle threats.” His brother shakes his head condescendingly and then looks straight at Castiel. “The flame resistant garments you created are going to be what saves this company, but I need the schematics for the machines as well as the specifications for the yarn. Can I count on you to acquire those for me?”  
  
“That was Charlie’s idea and Ash’s design. Everyone worked really hard to develop it and they are beginning the patent process so the appropriate people get credit. It isn’t right to steal it from them.”  
  
“Oh, you and your scruples. Get it done by the end of this week.”  
  
Castiel finally feels like he’s beginning to see through Michael’s attempts at manipulation, the way he’s focused on advancing his own interests and everyone else be damned. He no longer feels he can be a part of this, validating his brother’s needs and being an unwitting participant in his schemes. He pulls himself to his full height, eye-to-eye with Michael.  
  
“No,” he says, emphatically.  
  
Michael’s draw drops in shock and then he snaps it shut. Michael doesn’t look as though he believes it, the same patronizing expression on his face as when he was thinking about Lucifer. “Remember that without this job and your family, you will be left with nothing and no one. You’re treading on thin ice, Castiel.”  
  
Cas laughs, remembering how no one here in Miami knows how close he came to dying. “Well, I’ve been there before and I survived it. I’m confident I can again. I quit.”  
  
“Castiel!” Michael calls as he strides out of the room. He ignores the shocked looks of the staff when Michael follows him, yelling “Come back here!”  
  
Calmly, he makes his way back to his office and begins to pack up his things. He leaves most of the useless awards and knick knacks he’s accumulated over the years and reflects on the fact that he’d really like some framed photos of his friends back in New Ulm to put on his next desk. Ava comes to his door, looking impressed. “So I guess I don’t have a job anymore,” she says.  
  
“Oh, Ava, I’m sorry. I didn’t think...”  
  
She holds up a hand to forestall him. “No, it’s fine. The only reason I was still here was because you were a halfway decent person. And I heard what you did to help the soldiers... Michael doesn’t deserve to benefit from this.”  
  
“Thank you. You know, I might be able to find you some work in New Ulm.”  
  
She shivers and says, “In Minnesota? No thank you.”  
  
Laughing, he nods his head. “Very well. I won’t forget you, Ava.”  
  
“I know. Goodbye Mr Morgan.”  
  
“Call me Cas,” he says, surprising them both.  
  
Instead of going straight home, he drives around the city for awhile, searching for a place to eat that will somewhat remind him of the Roadhouse. He finds a diner that comes close, but the cheeseburger is nowhere near what he remembers Ellen’s is like. The company at the bar is subpar, as well.  
  
The sun is low in the sky when he gets to his apartment, and he immediately sets up his laptop and a printer he’s had stashed away, creating a home office where he can work. Since he first began getting calls from investors interested in their idea, he’s had an idea in the back of his mind that could save the factory once and for all. He pulls up the contact information he’d filed away and begins to make some phone calls.  
  
It’s not until after he hangs up the phone for the last time that he thinks about the events of the day. It hits him all at once: he’s not part of his family’s company anymore. But really, the company he left isn’t the one his parents worked so hard to build, and he thinks it’s about time to work on creating that kind of company again. And his real friends and family in Minnesota will be there to support him unconditionally.  
  
A weight feels lifted off his shoulders. All the expectations of his brothers and the guilt from not living up to them, for not wanting the same thing. He opens a video call to Charlie and thinks about telling her all about what’s happened, but decides to settle for simply saying hello. He resists asking how Dean is.  
  
She’s thrilled to hear from him and asks how warm it is there. Dorothy ducks in to say hello at one point and he finds himself grinning, more happy than he’s been since he left Dean standing outside the bar. And that settles it. He knows what he has to do. He pulls up a spreadsheet and begins to work on projections.  


 

* * *

  
  
Castiel receives a call from the company’s lawyer a few days later, informing him that Elysium is being sued for breach of contract by Lucifer. Castiel immediately calls Sam, in case he needs a lawyer from outside the company to defend him and his friend flies down to join him in Miami. Fortunately, it is decided that Castiel wasn’t high enough up in the company to be involved with the business decisions and his name is cleared.  
  
The media attention from the case gains the attention of the federal government and sparks an investigation into their role in the incidents overseas. Castiel knows they will find numerous instances of bad business practices and violations of federal guidelines. Elysium Clothing is all but finished at this point and while Castiel is happy they aren’t hurting anyone any longer, he can’t help but mourn his parents’ legacy.  
  
Sam and Castiel spend a few days seeing the sights in Miami, as well as barhopping with Castiel’s friends Meg and Anna. They talk about Castiel’s new business venture and hash out some legal documentation and Cas decides he’s ready to present his idea to the factory workers in New Ulm.  
  
Flying back to Minnesota with Sam, his friend reveals that Michael had called him soon after Castiel left town.  
  
“He did?” Cas asks incredulously.  
  
“Yeah, he was trying to get the specifications for the wool military garments,” Sam says, rolling his eyes.  
  
“What happened? Are we in trouble?” Cas asks. He thought the matter had been settled when he stood up to his brother.  
  
“Don’t worry. That’s my job. The patent is ironclad; there’s no way they can get their hands on that information.”  
  
Castiel has never been so thankful to know a lawyer in his whole life and tells Sam so. After that, their conversation moves to the people in New Ulm.  
  
“Ben told me the other day that he misses you,” Sam says after the flight attendant drops off their requested glasses of water. Then he adds, “And he said Dean does too.”  
  
“Really?” Cas says, his breath catching in his chest. He leans toward Sam, hoping he’ll say more.  
  
“Yeah. I can tell he’s just been going through the motions lately. You know how he closes himself off.”  
  
Castiel nods. He remembers the way Dean had been quiet and withdrawn around Christmas, when everything reminded him of what he’d lost. He hopes he can make Dean happy again, eventually.  
  
“I miss him too, Sam,” Castiel says emphatically. “Very much.”  
  
“Good,” Sam answers, nudging his shoulder.  
  
The view through the windows of the airport in Minnesota looks completely different as they make their way through the terminal. When they step outside, the weather is almost pleasant; summer has arrived and finally the flowers get a chance to grow. Castiel observes the rolling green hills from the passenger seat of Sam’s truck and Sam laughs.  
  
“It looks completely different, doesn’t it?” Sam says.  
  
“Definitely,” Cas answers. He can’t help grinning when the sign welcoming them to New Ulm comes into view and it hits him: _this is home._  
  
He can’t stay in the same house he had lived in the last time he'd been to New Ulm, considering it is company-owned, although his things are still there and he’ll need to deal with that at some point. Sam offers to let Castiel stay with him at his house, but but Cas graciously declines. Jess has been spending a lot of time there and he doesn't want to get in the way of their developing relationship.  
  
Instead, he asks Sam to take him to the only motel in town, near the shore of the lake. It’s a quaint little place, more of a bed and breakfast run by a friendly older woman named Missouri.  
  
As much as Castiel wants to see Dean right away, he decides not to seek him out. He knows Dean had been hurt when he left, and he gets the feeling that Dean will need a sign that Cas will be staying for good this time. He hopes it will be enough to convince Dean that he's committed to this town - and to Dean, if he'll have him.  
  
The next morning he arrives at the factory bright and early and sees that there are more cars than he expected in the lot. Walking through the front office, he can hear raised voices coming from the production floor. When he swings open the door, he is met with chaos as a large crowd of people argue and discuss the case against the company and what it means for them and the town. The workers who stuck with Castiel are all there, as well as a few former employees and some of the townspeople.  
  
Moving unnoticed to the middle of the room, he steps up on a sturdy box and calls out, “Hello!” in an attempt to get everyone’s attention. No one pays him any mind, until Jo spots him from her place against the back wall. She puts her fingers to her lips and whistles sharply, causing everyone to fall silent and look around.  
  
His friends smile and wave at him, but the rest of the crowd looks shocked and angry at his presence.  
  
“I understand you’ve heard about the court case, investigation and subsequent demise of Elysium Clothing,” he begins, slowly turning to address everyone gathered around him.  
  
People start shouting questions and the noise level rises again, but he holds up his hands, hoping to get a chance to state his case. “I've started a new company and assembled some industrial investors who are very interested in what you’re doing. They want to back me in buying this plant, product line and all. You would be an independent company, assured of your livelihoods and not at the whims of a corporation.”  
  
There are excited whispers following his announcement and he catches Bobby’s eyes from across the room, who nods encouragingly. Castiel freezes, his heart pounding in his ears, when Dean steps out from behind a group of people. He hadn’t realized that Dean was there and drinks in the sight of him, feeling as though they’ve been apart for years.  
  
“Are you prepared to deal with the union on this?” Dean asks, his face a blank mask.  
  
“I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement,” Castiel says hopefully.  
  
Dean takes a minute to answer, rubbing the back of his neck while he thinks. Swallowing nervously, Castiel waits for his answer, feeling like the rest of his life depends on how Dean responds to Cas’ idea. Finally, Dean looks up and meets his eyes.  
  
“Yeah, I hope we can,” Dean replies, cracking a small smile.  
  
Stepping down off the box, Castiel slowly approaches Dean, waiting for any indication that he should back off. Instead, Dean pulls him into a hug and Cas sighs, feeling the last of the tension drain from his body.  


 

* * *

  
  
Castiel’s idea takes off almost without a hitch and by the end of that year, they expand production into a full range of clothes and blankets suitable for the military as well as wilderness survival. Benny Lafitte, the sheep farmer, starts a co-op for wool suppliers and is able to update the various buildings on his farm with the profits from his now-booming business. The factory is running smoothly with Bobby back at the helm and Cas takes care of any business matters from his office.

Elysium Clothing, Inc is reborn as a smaller, more ethical company. In the capable hands of people like Cas' former secretary Ava, they are able to avoid shutting down most of their factories and grow into a respectable business once again.  
  
Charlie helps Cas break into the company-owned house and retrieve his possessions, though most of them end up packed away in a storage unit as Cas continues to stay at the B&B. Dean and Cas develop their relationship slowly, going on dates together and taking long meandering drives in the Impala. They talk about their families and their pasts and with Dean’s help, Castiel is finally able to let go of the hurt he’s carried around inside him for so long.  
  
Every Friday night he goes out for drinks at the Roadhouse with Dean, Sam and Jess, as well as an assortment of other friends. He is once again welcomed into their parties and town events and he feels more at home than ever. He even joins Charlie’s Stitch’n Bitch group and learns to knit. Dean’s face lights up when Cas gives him a blanket it took him 6 months to finish, even though it is lumpy and made from three colors that clash horribly.  
  
About a year after he left Miami, Castiel moves in with Dean. Castiel has to adjust to living with a teenager in the house, but he finds that he and Ben enjoy each other’s company immensely. The house is often filled with music and laughter, with good food on the table which he is now able to enjoy.  
  
He has a home and he has a family; life is good.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning notes: 
> 
> Near-death experience: Castiel almost drowns after falling through the ice of the lake and is hospitalized for hypothermia.
> 
> Body issues: Especially near the beginning of the fic, Castiel has body dysmorphia issues where he is worried about being overweight or becoming overweight. He displays disordered eating habits, being overly concerned about what he eats and feeling guilty about eating. 
> 
> Descriptions of injuries: I include a few non-graphic descriptions of burns a group of soldiers suffer caused by explosive devices. This is an actual thing that happened and the solution Castiel and the gang come up with is real too. I read about it in the book _Sheepish_ by Catherine Friend, which is an awesome book about wool and sheep farming in general!
> 
> Thank you again for reading! I have a tag for posts related to this fic [ here](http://myplaceofgreatestsafety.tumblr.com/tagged/tfwbb%20inspiration).
> 
> (Jess, I owe you. Like, REALLY OWE YOU)


End file.
